I used to think I didn't need them.  I fantasized about leaving.  I planned my escape properly.  I left.  I was living.  Living alone.  Living lonely.

Every once in a while, I return to that thinking.

"I do not need anyone," I declare.

I'm not certain why I cannot recall how fucking wrong I was... still am, on occasion.

I was so fucking wrong.  Two hours with the best friend I've ever known reminds me how just how dependent I am upon his love and concern.  I am so thankful "we" are back.  I don't know that I've ever missed someone more who was just a short walk away the entire time.

And he's right.  "Are you happy?" He asks sincerely... "Are you happy?"

"I don't know."  I don't know what it means.  I can't tell the difference between unhappy and my own irrational thoughts.  My logic overtakes me, and I can't stop analyzing.  It's hard being a logical person battling emotions.  Emotions are not wrong, but perception is often incorrect.

It's hard for others to understand.  It's hard for someone who has not faced the things I've seen... to comprehend.

Long/short of it?  I fucking need my people.

Even if it means my heart is in the open,
and it might get bruised, maybe broken.
It's forever better to be forever me,
rather live a life drowning in sorrow, an endless sea.

"What have I done
with my heart on the floor?
Must be out of my mind
To come back begging for more."