I want beauty. Beautiful people. Inside and outside. Especially inside! To look, listen, absorb, listen and be filled.
Unhurried breakfasts without phone, mail and instant messengers. Thoughtfully smear butter on a croissant crumbling with caramel flakes, black coffee with a drop of milk and silence. Well, okay, let the beloved Diana Krall on vinyl.
I want a high from work, without exhaustion and tears. In order not to fight stupidity. To live, not survive. To make new shoes because they are beautiful, and not because there is nothing to wear.
I want tenderness. From a man, from a cashmere sweater, from touching, from words, from whipped cream.
I want to laugh, ringing, bubbly, yours, so excitedly, to tears in the corners of my eyes.
I want a holiday. With anticipation, with the mood to prepare, buy, hide, with priceless delight in the happy eyes opposite. So with a dress and jingling earrings, silk stockings and shoes, pink champagne.
You want yourself to be real, soft, with the same feminine, so as not to be afraid to show. And so as not to forget how it is.
I want to be lovable. And this is perhaps the main thing.