If I wait to fall in love with someone, I may never experience love; that's why I've decided to fall in love with the idea of love, even if it sounds lonesome as fuck, I do not care about it. It probably won't disappoint as much as someone I might not even love but for whose kisses I've longed for so long.
So many love stories I'd love to live in to later realize I'm not even in the right lane.
I want Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller, I want Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald.
I want to make up russian novels whenever I gaze upon my lover's eyes.
I want Sylvia Plath's heartache over Ted Hughes and I want someone to be tormented by heartache the same way I am.
I long for subtle touches and never-ending embraces, I want long breaks of dawn and twilights, I want moon eclipses and heartbreak wishes.
I want Franny Brawne and John Keat's devotion,
I want Jaime Sabines and Josefa Rodríguez,

Retrieving from love sounds like a better path instead of ricocheting through Nabokov's lusted ways in which I'm horribly and tremendously acquainted.

Hoping for love is like waiting for oceans to not carry knowledge of thousands of worlds.