Desiderative thinking on a lonely night

I want someone who'll dance with me, hold me to keep me from falling and turn that move into art.

I want someone whose voice will merge with mine, creating melodies that'll bring joy to our souls and smiles to our lightened faces. Melodies that will only stop when we kiss.

I want someone who'll listen to me even when I don't want to talk.

I want someone I can listen to for hours without ever getting tired.

I want someone that agrees with me, I want someone that also disagrees and still respects and values my opinion.

I want someone that'll make my heart follow the rhythm of love. Someone that'll make it as scary as worthy.

I want someone.

On what we share.

We are all the same, yet we are so different from each other. Studying psychology, that statement has come to me as an epiphany.

Psychology studies human behavior from so many points of view –environment, variables that affect our growth, even genetics. We all have a brain. We all have skin, eyes, lips. We have hearts. Lungs.

We all have a brain, and yet each brain works differently. Isn't it like magic?, the fact that everyone has a brain and no one thinks, does, speaks, imagines, dreams of or loves the same stuff. We were genetically programmed to have brains, but we weren't programmed to have the same experiences. It's overwhelming and sometimes scary, studying psychology. It's also exciting. There are so many posibilities for each of us to be unique… And still, it is so hard to know someone deeply, completely.

The only thing I can know for sure is that we all share one thing, something some of us have already experienced but everyone will get to live one way or another: death.

On missing her

Months have passed, though they feel like a hundred years. Bringing back the memories of the last time I hugged her entails salted tears and tight lips. I don't want to cry.

This is my first time. I've never lost someone I cared that much, cat or not. Am I over it? Maybe I'm not, because I still miss her. Maybe missing her doesn't mean I haven't moved on. How could I know?

She is out there. Alive. Well fed. Sad. Does she know that I love her, that I just can't have her? That I wish things were different? Will she ever be happy again? I don't want to cry.

I don't want to cry.

I don't…

Nomeolvides.