Shouting Into the Void

 I am incredibly touch starved. I have always known that my love language is physical contact, without ever having to take a Buzzfeed quiz to find out. I've known since I was five years old and I would crawl into my parents bed every morning, asking them to cuddle with me. Since I was 10 and realized that my favorite thing was to have my grandfather stroke my back with a piece of straw. Since I was 13 and only needed my mother to brush my hair to calm me down when I was angry. I love hugs, great big bear hugs that knock the air out of you for a second. I always want a hug, no matter what mood I'm in. My parents have worried for me since I was a child, that one day, I was going to hug the wrong stranger and get kidnapped. I like to think I give wonderful hugs, the kind that let you know I am just overjoyed to see you. Real hugs, not a small squeeze with one arm.  I want to hold hands or link arms or knock my hip against yours. I want to cuddle, with anyone, just the two of us cu

 I have never been good at keeping a diary because I always have convinced myself that I had nothing particularly interesting to say. And that is always what I've wanted more than anything, was to be interesting, if not extraordinarily interesting. I want to slay a dragon or save a princess. I want to solve a murder or have a secret love affair, or at least live in a castle and wear ball gowns to tea. But, unfortunately, I was born on a planet with no dragons, past the age of princesses, swept into the monotonous life of eat, school, sleep, repeat. I am left only with the the option of living vicariously through the absurd amount of books I read to get my fill of wonder and scandal.  I have also never had many friends, one or two at a time, never enough to have a group, never enough to belong somewhere. I listen to music as often as I can to stave away my hunger, my yearning for something more. I envy the people who can get through high school, and then college, and then a desk job