I am naturally a lonely person. I don’t have many friends; the ones I do have aren’t close.

I can never seem to keep friends for more than a few years, either. I’m a drifter. I keep to myself
—if someone wants me, they’ll come to me. I don’t seek people out unless I need them for
work. 

But there’s something I’ve noticed within myself. I think I stifled it long ago, to be
honest. The second I realized there was a spark, just a fledgling of a flame, I tried to put it out.
When that didn’t work, I hid it as best as I could. Lately, it’s been glowing brighter and brighter.
I’m not sure whether I should be disgusted or delighted. 

I seem to have a great deal of want within me. One day I woke up—and I suppose it’s
been growing for quite some time—but I ached. I ache, still, and for what? For love?

(For one-time-i-dreamt: I dreamed I helped my sister sneak a boy into the house. We first
hid him in the refrigerator, naked, and I had to take his clothes. Eventually, he made it into her
room but the following day our mom knew something was up and was going, quite honestly,
batshit trying to guilt us into telling her. I said “fuck this” and went to brunch because I was sick
of my mom being manipulative. Who shows up at brunch but the very boy I helped sneak into
my house? And not five minutes later, my sister walked in. I forced them to sit together because
honestly, they’re slept together and they can’t look each other in the eyes? But not before my
sister lost her chance to tell me something rather disgusting details of their night.)