Attachment is exhausting. I feel like it’s that or a pack of cigarettes you need to choose from and I mean that in the most in-humorous way possible. Personally I don’t smoke and it’s not because I think it’s “bad”. It’s just not up my alley. Attachment isn’t something I want walking through there either. Don’t get me wrong. There’s things I don’t mind being a leech on bare skin for, but another person? I don’t have enough blood pumping through my veins to even give someone the slightest satisfaction of being attached and yet I do. I gave him and the one before clumps of my insides because I felt that my words wouldn’t match. See, my kind of attachment needs a little more than just appreciation and there’s never been anything you’ve lacked more than that.