Touched by an…other human being

Being touched made me so uncomfortable. I felt like the awkward recipient of a gift I didn’t know how to hold properly. But soon, those feelings of discomfort turned into intense cravings. I longed for my friends to hug me and hold me, because suddenly, it felt wonderful to be the recipient of platonic affection, and I knew it was something I couldn’t get at home.

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Her Beginning, My Past: “Single and happy about it.”

I didn’t want a sneak-peek into his world anymore.. the cursory view that hundreds of others got; highlights here and there, and occasional showcases of the big, mention-worthy things. I wanted to know what he’d had for breakfast that morning.. hear what new, favorite song he’s been playing on repeat all week long.. and see what Marvel-themed t-shirt he bought at Target last weekend. Shit I don’t have a right to know anymore; shit I shouldn’t care to know about, see, or hear anymore.

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