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And then one day I found myself profoundly empty. Before jumping into the nearest Great Lake with newly formed cement shoes, I decided to look for whatever it was that I needed. At the time, it was a nameless kinda-something, just an acknowledgment of the need to be deeply seen, touched. But the idea was still abstract to me, as I didn’t know what that connection would feel or look like.

Or if it even existed.

I didn’t know what I didn’t know, so I went looking for it.

It’s kinda like finding an obscure item from the last page of the Chinese food menu. You aren’t sure what you want, but — ohwhatthehell— you put your money on it and order. Fingers crossed.

Spoiler: It turns out to be the very best thing you have ever tasted.


And somehow, I found it… On the first try.

And I lived in the moment. I enjoyed our nameless and undefined intimate connection. The one where his head against mine felt like home. The one where I wanted him inside of me as deep as possible so that for a moment, he was mine.

And the craving and the longing and the need… feels like a hit of sugar in your veins and tastes like that first kiss. It feels like the sun warming your back on an autumn day and has the silky delicious touch of skin-on-skin. It is raw and crushing, yet peaceful, soothing and safe.

Once you get a taste of it, there is no going back, is there?

I grew to care about him deeply, let him see me like no other. And then I thought of the fleeting nature of things that burn hot and fast.

To hold on tighter, I had to learn to let go.


So, now I know.

I know how a real connection is supremely complex and beautiful and guttural and painful and wonderful all at once. That it is rare and extraordinary, delicate, passionate, and perhaps, meant to ebb and flow.

Its scarcity makes it sought after and revered. Even the universe plays Supply and Demand.