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Description
I want to dance.
Oh, don't I sound petulant with my legs dangling off the couch, toes to the floor. Pouting behind my hair, hands on my lap. I watch other couples swirl and twist and jitter to music, sometimes music only they can hear, and I wilt as if I have been sitting in the sun far too long. Going about daily routines like shopping, to me, looks like a waltz. Metered and perfect. Taking the dog for a walk is like a tango; luscious and daring. Dropping the children off at school is like ballet, yards of tulle tutu's and beautifully dimmed lighting, rose colored glasses. I sigh.

I want to talk.
I don't want to talk about it, I just want to have a normal conversation. We could discuss Rwanda, or chili dogs at the mall. We could talk about the obvious lesbians in the park behind our home, I don't care, I want to talk. I'd like nothing better then to open my mouth and exhale birdsong, twisting it through the air and in to your ears. But you don't want to listen – you only want to talk about death, diminishing our ranks, human beings, disease, ailments and war. I can't stomach this before breakfast. I need more time.

I want to swim.
To feel the salt etch my legs like blown glass being carved in Italy, I want to taste the water and wish for dolphins. I'll wear my turquoise one piece and match the sea, and you can stay on shore, reading. As long as I am buoyant, floating, aimless. Like a duck, bobbing along the surface of a thousand little waves, I want to dunk my head and count starfish. I want to live.

I want to go blind.
Using the other four senses, I want to experience the world without prejudice. I want to touch somebodies face, smell a flower, taste the sticky juice of pears as it runs down my chin. I want to hear monks chanting their prayers, and sit cross legged on top of a mountain, buffeted by wind, unsure of my surroundings. If I can't see it, it isn't there. I wish I could leap off the shimmering expanse of white capped rocks. I want to escape. I want to fly.

But if you insist, then all I want is to sit down and have breakfast. Eggs, toast and marmalade, orange juice and a crisp, hot off the press newspaper.
If you simply must, I want to grasp your hand over the flannel tablecloth and look at our knuckles, comparing them. The size, shape, and texture. I will run one finger over the piping in your blue and white pajamas, admire the monogram, raise an eyebrow and wink seductively.
Then I will want to whisper that everything will be okay.

Description
I want to dance.
Oh, don't I sound petulant with my legs dangling off the couch, toes to the floor. Pouting behind my hair, hands on my lap. I watch other couples swirl and twist and jitter to music, sometimes music only they can hear, and I wilt as if I have been sitting in the sun far too long. Going about daily routines like shopping, to me, looks like a waltz. Metered and perfect. Taking the dog for a walk is like a tango; luscious and daring. Dropping the children off at school is like ballet, yards of tulle tutu's and beautifully dimmed lighting, rose colored glasses. I sigh.

I want to talk.
I don't want to talk about it, I just want to have a normal conversation. We could discuss Rwanda, or chili dogs at the mall. We could talk about the obvious lesbians in the park behind our home, I don't care, I want to talk. I'd like nothing better then to open my mouth and exhale birdsong, twisting it through the air and in to your ears. But you don't want to listen – you only want to talk about death, diminishing our ranks, human beings, disease, ailments and war. I can't stomach this before breakfast. I need more time.

I want to swim.
To feel the salt etch my legs like blown glass being carved in Italy, I want to taste the water and wish for dolphins. I'll wear my turquoise one piece and match the sea, and you can stay on shore, reading. As long as I am buoyant, floating, aimless. Like a duck, bobbing along the surface of a thousand little waves, I want to dunk my head and count starfish. I want to live.

I want to go blind.
Using the other four senses, I want to experience the world without prejudice. I want to touch somebodies face, smell a flower, taste the sticky juice of pears as it runs down my chin. I want to hear monks chanting their prayers, and sit cross legged on top of a mountain, buffeted by wind, unsure of my surroundings. If I can't see it, it isn't there. I wish I could leap off the shimmering expanse of white capped rocks. I want to escape. I want to fly.

But if you insist, then all I want is to sit down and have breakfast. Eggs, toast and marmalade, orange juice and a crisp, hot off the press newspaper.
If you simply must, I want to grasp your hand over the flannel tablecloth and look at our knuckles, comparing them. The size, shape, and texture. I will run one finger over the piping in your blue and white pajamas, admire the monogram, raise an eyebrow and wink seductively.
Then I will want to whisper that everything will be okay.