dear universe, maybe the list of wants is too long and too tough to work through. maybe a list of what i don’t want will be easier to manage?

p.s. this is incomplete. i think.

sincerely,

I don’t want to deal with money.
I don’t want to live in any place I don’t have room to plant something, a windowsill, a back porch, a field. something.
I don’t want a car without a chauffeur.
I don’t want love without color. dark. deep. bright. indigo. red as fire.
I don’t want a day without music. or reading.
I don’t want to have to ask every single time.
I don’t want sweet wine.
I don’t want to ever work retail again without someone to come home to, ready for body-rubs.
I don’t want to believe in the impossible.
I don’t want to wear anything that fits less than perfect.
I don’t want to forgive just to forget.
I don’t want pills before bed before nightmares before godless mornings.
I don’t want to go to bed hungry. 
I don’t want to get old unless I feel young.
I don’t want to be an actress. 
I don’t want a shitload of log-ins, dot coms, or profiles to feel connected.
I don’t want to hear about heaven or hell.
I don’t want poetry unless it works, unless it’s possible. I don’t want to be blubbering in the car on a rainy night because I’ve put in the work, but can’t accept the reward.
I don’t want to have to turn anything down that my heart asked for because some “shit fell thru”.
I don’t want long distance.
I don’t want aches that are empty.