Sometimes the best time to be human is when you’re in pain. When everything hurts. When everything is stinging and throbbing and you begin to wonder what angel you pissed off. Or what drug your mother was on that led to your birth. When the nettles and thorns give way to crimson teardrops. Sometimes this is the only time I’m ever happy. That’s why I keep chasing people that I know don’t give a shit about me. I love pain. I need to be held up, then thrown across a thousand seas. I need to be kissed, then cracked on the head with an iron hammer. I need to be broken, so I know I am whole. I need to remember that I’m still human, and if this is the only way then so be it. I see the fictitious persons that fill my peripheral. They have no idea how lost they are. But pain strikes reality back into me, and I soon find out I’m not alone. Not unique. Not special in any way. And I breathe again. Because I realize that in spite of all my normality, someone loves me enough to keep me living.