I think it’s the idea of affection that I think of and want most. The unique sensation of closeness and oxytocin euphoria that accompanies most lovers. I have been withering away over these years losing bits of my warmth and Meness. Every hug and kiss is tainted with the dull ache of unfeeling. Man of steel in a different way. I care in a way but it’s not good enough, doesn’t feel real enough like I’m a facsimile of a person, deer in headlights emotionality. Had the feelies stroke and now I’m paralyzed body and soul. Yearning for that giddy thrill, the overwhelming feelings that accompany romantic entanglements, the choco banana ice cream of open hearts. I daydream of tenderness in a panoply of mired lost thoughts, drifting over the chasm of overwrought dullness and idle idleness. Gray, neutral, flat earth landscapes stretching farther than light shows. Yet I make the best of it I wager. No sad pile in social settings, no interest in dragging anyone down, just a solo drum beat in the cacophony of rhythms.