You wonder if you will ever be loved. You wonder. Not like you wonder if there will be tea at 3, or dinner at seven, but still, you wonder. You wonder so much and so long that you also wonder if the idea even makes sense–like when you say the word, "shoe" over and over and slowly you realize you have not ever really heard this word, and that it has no meaning whatsoever. "Shoe." You don’t dare rest your mind on that knowledge, or the whole language will unravel itself and you will be lost without words.
You wonder who will tuck you in and who will wake you up and who will tell you when you’re making a Really Big Mistake. Who would want that job, anyway, and why?
You wonder who might love you if you were not who you are, and who might love you if you changed. You wonder if there is anyone who would love you just as you are. Not as you appear to be to everyone who thinks they know you, but as you actually are. Even you don’t know what that means.