And maybe I am not as poetic as I think I am. And maybe I am not as poetic as I wish to be. And maybe my life isn’t as interesting as I like to paint it. And maybe I am not sad but I just want to feel. Feel something, anything. I long for the warmth of the touch of someone I love. And maybe I am running out of maybes. But that is okay because I would rather have maybes than what ifs.