The ache of being alone no longer resonates as a dull sensation, dependent on idle time and musings to wreak havoc on my senses, but rages through my veins, piercing fire and ice shredding my heart with each lub-dub. The need to be wanted, the want to be touched, the touch of the caring, the act of being cared for and looked after. Knowing that when I wake up today, should I fall, there is someone there to wrap me in their arms, whispering in my ear “It’s okay to admit pain, you don’t always have to be strong.” I want to depend and be depended on. I want your trust when you would trust no one else. I want my touch to sooth away tomorrow’s worries and today’s failures like so much dust floating in the cool night air, soon to be banished by the dawn. I yearn to be leaned on for strength, and for the luxury of being weak and vulnerable when my tired eyes brim with tears. Because my bones are becoming fragile, and my heart thin.