"Longing. Longing for a wave of love that would stir in me. That's what makes me clumsy. The absence of pleasure. Desire for love. Desire to love."

Something unusual is happening to me.  I have been hiding behind something hard and wrought out of pain, but a weakness has been found. My flesh is still soft. It can be touched and it can be pierced. Mortified. Emotion will seep from the wound. Feelings. Softness. Vulnerability. Longing. Warmth and the chill that follows. The words are bitter in my mouth. For so long I have wanted to ignore this part of myself, the part of me that needs. The part of me that is engulfed in loneliness and is beginning to realize it. The veil is lifted, so to speak, and I am seeing that nothing is there. No one is there. I am alone, and I am alone by my own doing. I have been deluded. I have manipulated myself into thinking that loneliness is strength. My loneliness makes me weak. My loneliness hurts. I do not want to be lonely any longer, I want to revel in my vulnerability. I want to share that with other vulnerable people. I want to share. I want people. I want.  Those words, they don't feel natural yet. Something in my chest pines for it, though. It yearns for touch.