I'm tired. 

I've been hanging around a lot of people - couples, kinky minded people, friends old and new. You know, the norm. I fight with my sister, I take some pictures, hop on a bus or train, go out, keep going, it's all good, I'm fine.

"The word 'fine' is banned in this house" he said, "because no one who says, 'I'm fine' ever actually means it." 

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. 

It's a mantra I say to myself. 

Her red hair is fire like the burning in my soul. They touch. I miss touch. The soft kind when no one is watching and you wish your eyes were cameras or that you could burn a moment in a touch through your memory to never forget. Never forget.

And I am torn up with longing. Not a longing for a person, but a longing to be known, understood, loved... Touched. 

I try not to let anyone touch me. I'm convinced I can feel all your desires in touch. The knowledge of it hurts me, I want to make you happy. Everyone deserves to be happy. It is not my responsibility.