You are so close yet I am afraid to reach out and touch you. I fear if I do, you'll disintegrate and the opportunity will wither and die. You have no idea how often I dream of you: your lips against mine, your hands upon my body. I fabricate scenarios in my head of us, creating elaborate conversations that have never occurred. At night, when alone, I become drunk with these lovely illusions; they almost seem real. But then when I awake, I am dismayed to discover your absence from my side. Sometimes I feel you want me too but how can I be sure? So often do I mistake kindness for coquettes. So often do I make advances only to be brutally confronted with rejection. These experiences have weakened me and so I remain distant and laconic.
There was a time when I was content to exist solely in my dreams, to interact with the specters of my imagination. I loved them, cherished them, used them as inspiration for poetry and prose. But now I am bored. I long for real, tangible human connection and to be understood, to be appreciated. I long to touch and to be touched. My craving for flesh has become insatiable for I have had no outlet. I feel so alone.
I dare you to emancipate me from this unbearable loneliness.