I hate wanting someone. It feels like something is clawing around inside my ribs, and all I want to do is spit the truth straight at them, tell them I don’t want to screw this up, don’t want to twist myself into the wrong shape, don’t want to be read as too much or not enough. It’s this violent urge to tear open my chest just so they can see the mess for what it is. And the worst part is knowing they’d just stare at me like I’m feral for even feeling this hard.