My boyfriend is moving from abroad to be with me. He’s in his 30s, I’m only just 20.
We’re looking at banks and mortgages. We’re researching savings accounts. He mentions children.

I really love him.

But I’m not ready for this. He’s giving up his whole life for me and I’m the one hesitating.

I want to go to Sweden and make love to a Swedish man in Winter, when my skin is covered in goosebumps and my n****** are cold. I want him to whisper his lovely language into my ear, and for his body to be my only warmth. I want him to take me for coffee the next afternoon, and I’ll have a wooly hat on, and we’ll avoid eye contact. I want to feel bittersweet. I want my heart to skip beats.

I want to spend a Summer in Japan, befriend a group and talk about our culture differences. I want to taste their sweets and wear their clothes and have a tearful goodbye.

I want to meet a guy in a videogame store and accidentally touch his hand over the counter. I want to look up and realise it’s somebody I used to know. I want him to stutter, and I want to run home and forget my breath.

I don’t want a house, or a husband, or a dog, or a child.
I don’t want it, even though it’s everything I’ve worked for, and everything I’m supposed to need.