Pelgris

The simplest desires are the hardest to feed. I desire touch. To touch and be touched; not sexually, but to be held and told, even if I know it to be false, that everything will be alright. That you have me, that I have you. People turn that into sex or brush off the need but I can’t any longer. I’ve finally, irrevocably, come to terms with just how broken I am. Tears are a regular occurrence. The walls I put in place crumble when the false cloth of this constructed life is peeled back and all I have is silence. And a desperate need for anything but, coupled with a intense desire to hear nothing. Not even the blood rushing through my ears makes a sound. And at the end, I just want to crawl in bed and find that you are snuggled against me. I want your touch, the comfort and joy being around you brings, but I’m not quite delusional enough to believe you, or anyone could love me. But gods, I wish to be proven wrong.