I could have them all but I just want you

If I wanted to, honey, I could have a lot of men, more than you can imagine. More than a hundred. Or a thousand, I don’t know.

I could have men who own Ferraris and men who don’t even have broken bicycles. There could be guys who know how to change shower heads and guys who don’t know how to change flat tires. He could have boys with a woodcutter’s beard and boys who, like his grandfather, shave every day. There could be guys who take whey protein and guys who, if they could, would even put some alcohol in the water. I could.

If I wanted, I could have the fifth-floor neighbor; the one who always makes excuses to take the elevator with me. The guy who, when he finds me in the garage, always manages to quickly go from “Hi” to “Shall we have a beer sometime?”. I could.

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I could have the most handsome guy in my job; the one that makes the interns drool, the gays use the term “magic” and the other men invent flaws where they obviously don’t exist. I could.

I could have one of the many who, right now, are chatting with me on Facebook chat. Guys who, 100% of the time I’m online, come up with a silly little talk at me. I could.

From albinos to blacks, from short to tall, from skinny to fat, from bald to hairy, I could have them all if I wanted, if you just said a quick “yes”. But if you really want to know, I chose to have only one: you.

I chose to give up all the invitations I live to receive to wait, anxiously, for yours, anywhere. In fact, it’s been a while since you invited me to eat that delicious açaí. How about next Saturday? Huh?

I chose to give up so many square chins – and who could easily star in Cepacol commercials – to be left alone with yours, which will forever bear the scars of the horrible day your mother called me to say you had crashed your car. I almost died from the heart, I confess. Well, I love you.

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I chose to forgo hands whose fingers are straight and have precisely cut nails. And do you know why? Because my hands, when they’re between your crooked fingers with nails bitten to the stem, don’t want anywhere else to be. And when they’re not there, they miss you. Didn’t you know that fingers miss you too? Oh, and even though I’m not a little girl anymore and I’ve already thrown away my dolls, I love it when you give me a hand across the street.

I chose to give up the chance to taste the taste of other mouths to be left alone with the delicious taste of yours., always with a dash of Black Halls and a hint of teenage passion. A passion that, to this day, still makes us chatter our teeth at times when we seem determined to swallow ourselves in a single kiss, in a single lick.

I won’t lie: there are many men behind me, but honestly and without poetic exaggeration, you are way ahead of them all, at the top of the podium of my heart. And none of them will be able to occupy the noble place of my body that is already yours, yours alone.

Luiza Fletcher