I wish hugs weren’t that expensive. Those honest, heartwarming hugs. The ones that cry “I need you.”
I wonder when I stopped trusting people, because my voice gets dimmer and dimmer in discussions. I sometimes want to stop and say: wait, I do truly love you.
But then there’s the doubt, the misunderstanding. I can’t stand rejection or, even worse, fake concern. I do not want to care about you if I am meaningless in your life. I wish I could remove this part from me that demands your attention. Who am I if not a clown that yearns for your smile?
I am tired, I’ve ceased believing I am special. I am terrified. That’s why I can’t muster the strength to say it: I have nothing to offer other than my hugs, and kisses.
Do you want them? Do I make you feel special? Because you do. And that’s how selfish I am: I am with you because you make me feel special.