“You want a love that consumes you. You want passion and adventure, and even a little danger” (L.J. Smith).
I don’t care to fantasize about soppy fairy tales with Prince Charming or lust after the boy next door. I need something deeper, something darker. I crave a fervent, eternal love that devours my soul and makes me lose control.
I want to run to you in the pouring rain and feel your strong arms wrap tight around my body, protecting me from my inner demons. I want to lay with you in bed and fall asleep to the sound of your comforting heartbeats. I want to hug your waist tight and rest my head on your warm back as we breeze through the highway on your Harley Davidson. I want you to open your desolate heart to me and cry onto my neck. I want you to whisper softly into my ears and send shivers down my spine. I want your touch to ignite my body into millions of flames that burn for you. I want this love so terribly.
But the only places you’ll exist are the novels I write you in and the daydreams I desire for to come true. You’re just a fictional character I created to compensate for my lonely, cold heart. And I resent this perpetual hunger because as long as you’re not real, I will never fall in love.
But in the place between dreams and reality, I will wait for you.
hilitehead 
elaborate?