I want you to love me as much as I love you. I want pristine pale skin and damp shoes and a drawer of old tights and tea-stained mugs. I want a National Express pass and a reusable grocery bag and messy hair and snarkitude. I want to know that an hour of sun means three days of rain and to describe my location in terms of proximity to London. I want cobblestones and cathedral towers and train stations and Wellingtons and biscuits and crisps and high streets and theatre and a queen who does nothing and pointless roundabouts and Victorian terrace houses and patchwork fields and massive crows and no air conditioning.
But most of all, I want you to love me as much as I love you.