Let's keep it simple.
I want a slow summer love.
And I don't mean flings. No- never flings.
I want an evening 'sit-on the porch and drink tea' kind of love. We don't have to watch the sunset for it to be poetic.
It doesn't have to be all rainbow and sunshine. We won't make a big deal about the moonlight too.
But when we kiss, I want to know you've kissed me in your head a thousand times before.
And when we touch, I want you to explore me with Neil Armstrong's passion. Take the journey none in the entire humanity have had the audacity to take.
The uncertainty of the extreme weather changes. The risk of running out of oxygen.
I want an afternoon picnic kind of love - I don't expect you to cook - or know which wine goes with what. I don't even want to color coordinate to Instagram it.
But each month, we'll pick a Sunday, a cosy spot, forget our phones in the car and feed off each other's honey-dipped anecdotes and crusted apple pies.
No one has to know where we are.
Isn't that more magical than wine and stars?
I want a slow summer love. One that forces you to wake up with sunlight gushing in at 5am and whose leaves sound like jazz as they sway you away in the afternoon breeze.
Let's not rush into it.
There's no need to bring in all your clothes just yet.
When you do come over, leave your baggage at the door step and only bring in a toothbrush, your wide eyes and your eager hands.
We'll take this real slow now.
Stock my refrigerator with your green beans and I'll make you one on the rocks after a hard day.
Write me non poetic punny notes if you leave before I wake and I'll drop off your clothes at the laundromat.
Attempt to cook my favorite breakfast and I'll attempt to gather all your friends for your big promotion party.
But we don't need to sleep intertwined on all the nights.
We don't have to rearrange the furniture.
You can choose to not water the plants and we'll divide nights for our genre of movies.
But one late night, we'll take a walk to the nearest pattiserie, and realise how slowly summer's ended.