It aches. I have so much love, so many ideas, so much longing to give love and to receive it. I find utter perfection in everyone I see. I don’t judge ever, I believe insecurities are beautiful, I see only perfection in who someone is completely inside and out.

I sit down and write poetry about how I am deeply in love with nobody in particular.

I want to give someone love. I want to shower them with positivity that they didn’t know existed in this world. I want to go on dates, I want to watch the sunset and rise with someone. I want to paint/draw them. I want to tell them each day how perfect they are. I want to hold them. I want to comfort them and be their ear, their shoulder to cry on, their person to vent to. I want all of it.

And yet all these thoughts and all this WANT is carried inside a body that doesn’t show it on the outside. Nobody knows how badly crave. I look into the faces of passers by hoping that someone will look at me, in the eyes, in the same way, a mutual connection.