I don’t feel like hanging out with anyone that doesn’t already reside inside my salt circle of comfort. The air dissipates with meeting someone new. And in its place rests a giant magnifying glass positioned perfectly to read the other’s emotions. As I’m grasping for breath in the vacuum of eye contact, I’m forced to watch my hands pick apart someone’s fleshy feelings under zoomed in glass. Like watching surgery. I wonder if it’s tiring for surgeons to go out with others. If they see what’s wrong with every person they encounter with a swift glance over their tiding bodies. Every person can be healed to a surgeon. Every car can be fixed, to a mechanic. Every person can be loved to me. But, that’s not up to me. That’s not up to me. It’s a lonely world, if all you truly desire is for others to feel love. I wonder if it’s really true that all desires are bad. Feels like. Maybe.