Like what if I told you that all I wanted at that moment was a hug, just a hug from you and everything would be, if not okay, at least a little more tolerable. And what if that hug was the desperate plea of a broken sobbing wreck, tired and ugly with stringy messy hair, lonely, yearning, at three in the morning, when the roads are silent and the street lights glimmer languidly. The pinnacle of love is not adoration but selfishness. That at the moment when I need you most, I sacrifice nothing of myself and demand that you appear before me despite the fact that you’ll be seeing me at my worst and you’ll be dealing with my ugliest. Because at the summit of it all, you’ll easily understand that somewhere, deep down, this is what I’ve needed all along. Every day. From the moment I came to being. And that all my life I’ve been waiting for this hug, this one selfish/selfless hug, at three in the morning, after an extortionate cab ride in the middle of the tranquil night, appearing on my doorstep after fighting to hold the tenuous thread of my sanity through the unceasing ordeal of a phone call the entire time.

I guess what I’m trying to say it, it’ll be nice to for once mean as much to people as they do to me. It’s always a need/want mismatch, not just them but me too. Maybe value has a strange system of proportionality, where the higher you are valued the less you value and vice versa thus. It takes a strange affinity to mean just as much to someone else as the iron grip they have on your heart.