I was asked by someone long ago what I wanted to be at two years old I wanted to be a goat, at six an FBI agent, at nine an author, at ten invisible, at eleven dead. At twelve I wanted to run away, at thirteen I wanted to be somebody’s child, at fourteen I wanted to be a sex toy for someone I chose, and at fifteen I wanted to be so fucking high I couldn’t remember my name. At sixteen I wanted to be anything at all to anyone, seventeen found me and I became a sex toy again. At eighteen I wanted to be anything that would pay my way, because I just wanted to be free of charge and up all night. What I wanted to be, what I was, the details get blurry. I’ve never had patience, I’m always in a hurry to get to what’s next, to find the next steps. At twenty-two I wanted to be gone, washed up on a beach near my childhood home so my ghost would haunt the sand and iceplant, I wanted to be nothing, finally, forever.
And everything I have ever wanted to be from my last day of being twenty-two until this second has been trapped in the first look from a pair of grey eyes. She took away what I wanted and showed me what I need. I want to be as good as I look in those eyes, as strong and pure and important. I want to be worthy of the trust I see there. I want to be a magical unicorn riding a rainbow, a perfectly paired wine with the most beautiful meal on the best table at the exotic world-class restaurant, I want to be the holder of deep secrets and the protector of hidden scars. I want to be what she sees when she sees me.
Matthew D. Eayre is a writer living in Denver with his wife and children. Refusing to exist as only one thing, he works as a supervisor in a delivery company while pursuing his BA in Accounting and chasing his dreams of making his voice heard in the world.
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