The Intangibles

I can buy myself dinner and drinks. I can purchase material objects, call them gifts and treat myself. I can explore parts of New York City I've never seen before. I can book vacations with my favorite people and trips back home. I can provide anything for myself that my paycheck and credit card can buy.

However, I cannot provide the intangibles.

I cannot send myself thoughtful text messages, that would be crazy. I cannot fully anticipate the bad days and predetermine how to make it all better, although I try. I can’t self-induce the euphoria of romantic love. I can’t replicate the feeling of butterflies. I can’t fill the entire bed, I’m small and I still prefer just the left side. 

In the process of self-healing I’ve patched myself up pretty fucking well. But there are voids, and I cannot fill the voids alone.