When you have bipolar disorder, love can take become an inferno that eventually engulfs its victims. Each party is left with scars and memories. Some love stories are not happily ever after. They are the short stories that remind us what we are capable of. I do not want labels. I do not define my life in absolutes. I want one perfect kiss in time, to reach for in the farthest corners of my mind when I need a kiss oh so badly, but there is no one there. I want a kiss that can sustain the moments in between. I want to be caressed, I want the side of my cheek stroked, I want my hair played with. I want to rest my head in your lap as I fall asleep. I want you to cover me with a blanket when I do.When you hold my hand, I want it done out of a desire to connect to me, rather than habit. I want to fall asleep with you next to me, holding me. I want you to think of me when I’m away. I want you to call me to hear my voice, to miss me. I can only allow myself to feel this exquisite pain, that washes over me in wave after wave of agony. I welcome this sensation, as it is tangible proof that I did not imagine any of it. For however brief a time, you smiled when you thought of me. I had the power to hurt you, which means I held a place in your heart. For you, I waited in line. Even though my turn was short lived, I will remember every touch, every word, every kiss, every moment like a lullaby I read myself before I go to sleep. I did not want labels. Jealousy, passion, need, want, trust, pain, happiness, and all the things that go with that arrangement. Now, though I may see you from time to time, I let you go. I can explain everything to you, but you hold a linear definition in your mind, never to stray from it. Thank you for reminding me that I am not frozen in ice, that my heart still beats beneath this cold surface and there was a brief instance I felt a flutter. I am capable of a great love, to be loved. I do not have to settle. That is your legacy to me.