I see it everyday: the kind of love that suffocates, that burns in your chest, hollowing you from the inside out. It takes and takes and takes and when it's gone, it never looks back, tossing you over its shoulder like a spent cigarette.

I don’t want that kind of love.

I want the kind of love that sends shivers down your spine in the best possible way. That fills you to the brim with cherry blossom blushes and electric sparks that tingle through your skin when they brush past you.
I want the kind of love that draws doodles in your endless notebooks. So that when you’re completely spent, fingers red from flipping pages, shoulders slumped towards your dimly lit desk, you see those hearts scratched into the bottom corner of the page and can’t help the grin that lights up the midnight sky.

I want the kind of love that pulls you towards the waves, teasing your toes with salty splashes and sapphire seas because it’s just more fun this way.

I want the kind of love that knows it's not always a good day. Because they see your eyes, hiding tears you can’t help but shed, though you're trying to force them back anyway. The kind of love that holds your hand under plastic desks, through tedious lectures, stroking the tender skin along your bruised knuckles. A promise that they know it hurts (because my God, how it burns through the very marrow your ribs), and that it’s okay to have bad days.

I want the kind of love that distracts you from your classwork, that draws your shy gaze towards them, even (especially) when you try to stop yourself from doing it.

I want the kind of love that spins you through cobalt quasars, that shows you the galaxies and nebulas behind your eyes. I want the kind of love that lights you up when you hear their laugh like firecrackers. I want the kind of love that tucks daisies behind your ears because, darling, you’re just so beautiful in the spring.

I want the kind of love that, above all else, makes you happy.

I want this kind of love.