This Is All I Ask

I am filled with hope. That moon is full and glowing against the clouds. The clouds are a rarity in the Los Angeles summer sky when so much dry heat overcomes us. 

I am filled with hope of tomorrow and filled with equal parts fear that my hopes will be dashed and the disappointment will crush. I want to yell at the sky "but don't I deserve this? After all of the years wanting this, after all of the days and weeks and months that drag on with me craving just this, and being told I'm not the one." 

And I've had it in parts....his big hands, his acceptance and openness, the way he'd pull me to him, his arms around my waist, the way he wanted me. 

His sneer---confidence shown in his upturned lip, as sexy as it was pretentious and repulsive, the way he'd lean into me, that particular sexy move of his which consisted of a mouth and a necklace, his unerring belief that anything was possible. His humor on that first glorious day, our common interests.

His dark hair and unique, exotic, highly smart and intellectual self. His shoulders, not as broad as I like them, but his height and his body, something I felt in tune with. The way I felt so good sitting on that booth seat, sliding over to him as if it were nothing, as if we'd done it a hundred times before, his arm relaxed and over my shoulder, as if I were his. 

I've had all of these, just these parts and I feel as though I'm about die from exhaustion or burst at the seams over so much time of grasping at what I haven't had. I want all of it. 

That is all I ask for tomorrow. That is all I ask.