I want only the Sun & You

11/22/25
I have emptied every century of its noise  
and still the quiet in my house is unbearable.  
The clocks have forgotten how to tick,  
the fire refuses to speak,  
and the moon, that old gossip,  
keeps sliding its light across the floorboards  
looking for two shadows instead of one.
I am tired of being a legend in an empty castle.  
I want grocery lists on the refrigerator,  
a second toothbrush wearing down beside mine,  
the small domestic blasphemies:  
your socks under the couch,  
your hair in the shower drain,  
your heartbeat at 3 a.m.  
when the nightmares come  
and I can chase them away with a kiss to your shoulder blade.
I do not seek a victim.  
I seek a co-conspirator.  
Someone brave enough to love the dark  
without needing it to love her back the same way.  
Someone who will laugh when I burn the toast  
because I still measure time by sunsets I cannot share,  
who will fall asleep reading in my lap  
while I trace the map of her veins  
and promise, every night,  
not to follow it to its ending.
I can offer you forever  
but I would rather offer you Tuesdays:  
rain on the skylight,  
bad television,  
the way I will learn to make coffee  
exactly the temperature you like  
even though I will never drink it.  
I can offer you safety from everything  
except the slow, ordinary miracle  
of growing old in a house that finally feels lived in.
Come live with me.  
Not as prey,  
not as a story I tell the night,  
but as the woman who leaves the porch light on  
so the monster can find his way home.  
Bring your daylight with you.  
I have kept a room warm for it  
for four hundred years.
I am waiting at the gate,  
no cloak, no grandeur,  
only an old-fashioned key  
and a heart that has learned how to beg  
in seventeen languages  
and still only knows one word that matters:
Stay.
Gain extreme supernatural power and a soulmate. For male or female.