I wish I was cared for. Or, I am, but just not how I wish I was.

I wish I could feel that sturdy fire of another body,
of another person’s clothes,
instead of sitting and trying to hug mine.

I feel myself slip through my own fingers, all fabric, slimy eel and tar. All mesh yarn.

My task is futile.

My arms around my chest will never feel close to … even, warm rushing water.
The water goes through the mesh of me, anyways
so I will likely always fail
to feel someone else’s warm, rushing body.

I simply ache to feel myself held in someone else’s arms.

I simply ache to feel myself hold steady against someone’s body,
and I much-less-simply
ache
to feel myself
not just fall through
and land,
bleeding,
onto the carpet floor.

© CarmeFormIhn