I wish I had the courage to say to all those that I love, “I love you.” I wish I had the courage to say to all those who I think I could love, “I could love you, given time and half a chance.” I wish I could say, “There is something about you that is so compelling.” I wish I could share what I see. I would wish that I was not so fearful of the consequences. If I say those things, what would the fallout be? Would I be believed? And if I am believed, would I be dismissed, disregarded? Or worse, met with silence. As if I never were. This is what consumes me. And all the lust, all the fire of the physical. Is a mask worn to conceal these thoughts, these needs. But like all thoughts, when worn long enough, they have become a part of me. Inextricably linked to how I view love. It is not enough to love someone emotionally. I need to touch them. For some just a few fingers against their arm, or a hug. For others they consume me and I need to consume them. To feel comfortable, complete.
I love many people. Each uniquely, each for different reasons. But I love them. I wish I was free or fool enough to declare it.