Tears fall from faces like rain from the sky, different intensities, different reasons, and different outcomes. I cry for myself, not out of sadness, but out of happiness. Perhaps I've finally snapped, that last string coming undone and unhinging me. It doesn't matter. I'm happy. That burning, butterflies-in-your-stomach, I want to tell the world type of happiness. The world makes everything seem more complicated than it ever is. Your want for love, need for it, your craving, it's nothing malevolent. You don't mean to hurt. In reality, you and I aren't any different. I crave it too, that warm feeling of kinship, of being wanted. But I only search for you, the safe hunting grounds I've known for so long. You still offer it, but through my efforts, you're more wary, less willing to give it away. You search far and wide, scouring the globe for it, devouring all you can. I don't hate you for it. I know you mean no harm to me when there's another that catches your eye. Really, I just want that. The feeling of being wanted. Being needed for stability. Reciprocated love is like no other, and I don't care anymore how you get yours. Take it from me. Tear me apart, suck the love from my marrow, leave me in shambles. I'll build myself up again, a never ending offering to the god that is you. All I ask in return is a share of it, some soft, touching moments for us to share. I don't want the world, for I've given all mine to you, and I'll do so over and over again