love & isolation are so strange because in solitude, u create all these perfect scenarios for your imaginary darling—you would cut them fruit & dance in the kitchen & always kiss them twice in case the first one doesn't take properly—but as soon as you're given the chance, you fumble. it's so mortifying, having not practiced but taken so much time to plan it out, & you finally get your shot & you can hardly hold their hand or meet their eyes. you want love so badly & you've been deprived of others for so long, your actual capability is distorted. you wince at their touch or can only leave them small gifts when you're out of the room. the intensity increases, the thought that you don't deserve softness heightens. it's a terrible cycle: wanting & wanting & letting that want turn to a festering that ruins it before you can reel yourself back