I could want you on dark nights when sickness knocks on my doors. I could want you to hold me close and to touch my fears away, far away from me. I could want you to tuck the strands of hair behind my ear when they fall on my face, whisper sweet nothings just before I fall asleep, tell me your dreams, describe the places you want to travel with me, or cuddle with me under the moonlight. Oh, I could want a million little things of you but you, my dear, will never bare your heart out to me. It is sad that I should want these of a man that is capable of the miracle called love but is also a miser of it.