alone, I am touched

It’s funny how the smallest glance, the tiniest twinkle in her eye, can light such a fire in me. His deep voice, soft smile. Her laugh. His kindness.

Beautiful people inspire me, touch me, change me… daily. I cry to think of how alone I am. I cry.

It’s like my dream brought to life on a screen. All of those buried aspirations dug up and pulled to the surface for me to watch…only different. That unrealistic confidence… I couldn’t continue forever. It wasn’t real. But I loved it. That cool superiority, and fragile self-consciousness… all in one package. Breathtaking.

Why does it affect me so? I pretend to be detached… happy. It’s a lie. Why do these miracles happen only to those on screen? It seems. …Alone.

How is it that the curve of her cheek, her slender arm and her small, plump breast gives me shivers? Why do I lean forward when his lips part, and cock my head when he speaks? So beautiful. It’s not real. This cold reality slaps me in the face, and again I am reminded.

I am touched. Alone.

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