To more than one, and less than seven

Dear Others (more than one, less than 7)

This is all a little contrived, played out. But it feels so accurate. I'm in a place I hate to love. I find you make me feel paradoxical most of the time. I think my attempts portray me in the wrong light. And/or they go unnoticed. What's crazy is how honest the confusion is. I truly don't understand my intentions. I don't. I like what I have. My own situation. But yet, I find myself nesting. Making a spot for you slowly. It's not even really that I want you. Or meant to make more of it than it was. Sexually, maybe. But in whole, no. It's not even really about that either.

Uncontrollable urges for more connectivity.

Nicely yours,

Anonymous