My brain untwists itself and lays me flat. I thought I wanted sex, I think to myself, but god how much I just want someone to touch me. How long can a person live without physical affection? How are people supposed to live like this? All this rushing to do the next thing – get to the next powerfully boring meeting at work, the rush to write that friend an intimate letter that seems to go ignored, what the fuck am I going to make for dinner? nope. nope. stop. mute all that shit. I want someone to touch that rise at the base of my neck. Perhaps feel their breath there shortly afterwards, rendering from deep within me a soft whimper of please do that agains. Do I smell of loneliness and frustration? Do I taste like resentment? Who would want that lingering on their tongue?