Thoughts from a Dreamer: A Look at Love

I have a list. I am seventeen years old and I have a list. I know, kinda, what I want. I have this first world perception of perfection and I fear that I will fail. But it isn't up to me, is it? I have no say or power or authority in any of the this, in an outcome - in the grand scheme of things. And that, too, is scary. I don't want diamond encrusted rugs, or specially bred poodles from Sweden. I just want a him, and a me. I want the two of us together fight through the world. I want travel and postcards. I want stamps and stamps lining my passport that I think I've used once. So far. I want a kitchen that shines in its stainless steel glory and an island that I can have coffee and emails on in the mornings. I want red pants. I want Brown University and an office with a large picture window. I want an income that can support a home, a car, and the world beyond my finger tips. I want to laugh and cry about all the beautiful things. I want friends for dinner parties, and oppositions for checkers. I want date nights and movie nights and game nights and dress up nights. I want that big blue sky and that small green grass. I want high ceilings and even higher expectations that are met like clockwork. Like Sunday papers. I want to know, and be reassured every moment that I question an idea. I want these fragments to be okay, and the world to know that I'm selfish -- but accept me.

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." - Oscar Wilde