feedmel0ve

I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so i would not break. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, or put a hand on my shoulder, i hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry.

—Marya Hornbacher  (via fakeville)

(Source: bunny-gal, via fakeville)