I hope I can reach out to people, with my arms, arms made of words stretched, tentatively, questing outwards, as if to receive - praise? Like the cheekbones, of a cat, eyes closed in acceptance.

And it becomes you, this, the cheekbones become me, and mine, and I'll give that to you every time you ask. If you ever ask. I feel so distant at the moment. In actuality I am, so lonely. And it will be like this, for so long now.

But oh god, oh god, I've made it this far. To make it this far, and to have to keep proving myself, again, again, to gamble it all over and over, I can't do it. I don't want this. I have proved myself, this much, already. And you can roll your eyes and call me dramatic all you like, but,

I have made it this far, already.

Is that not enough?