The feeling is back. The once in a blue moon pit of longing for affection. Most of the time, I’m okay without it. But some nights, I just want the attention of someone who admires me. It borders nearly on pathetic, wanting to hear words of validation from a complete stranger. Even if I find something that resembles it enough when I squint my eyes - it always fall short. It never satisfies the craving, to be truly seen. It’s just not possible here. To be complimented on who you are, by someone who deeply knows you, instead of what you look like. Of course, I enjoy a compliment on my appearance but I value my mind more than my attractiveness - and my heart glows when someone else does too. Historically, when I’m hit with this desire, I resort to writing. It starts as what I would say if I was actually going to make a post. Honest, vulnerable, and probably too wordy. It transforms into a prose I had no indention of starting. Have you noticed that this is exactly what I’m doing now? You’re reading the blossoming of new thoughts and the draft of what could evolve into something special. Special to me, that is. This writing is just a desperate attempt to identify and verbalize the feelings and images in my head that feel impossible to describe; the hollow feeling of loneliness and the ache to be cared for as if I’m a rare and precious thing. More often than not, this process is enough to soothe me away from actually ever posting or even caring if someone responds.
But it’s stopping there, for now - and I’m posting it.
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