When there was a bang in the alley and I turned, shocked, my other arm reaching out for - 

That's right. You're not there. Not going to pull me into your warmth, murmur that it's alright. Stroke my hair, calm me down. 

Like I said...this is the price. 

And you know, to you or the rest or whatever. Maybe just stay away. Please just stay away. I'm just not, right now, able to give anything. I'm filled with smoke and fumes and some sort of electricity buzzing all over, seconds from combustion. And yes, it's great to be myself again, with my sarcasm and rolled eyes and throwaway remarks, and have them heard; it's great not to be sadness shrouded in the softest cotton imaginable; it feels good to be back. But maybe stay away.