Hug it Out

When I was a kid, probably nine or ten, I told my extended family that I was done hugging them. They were so fucking annoying with their hugging any time anyone farted (this was the example I gave as to why I was through), and I was not okay with that. My aunts and uncles were, of course, offended, and my grandma hugged me anyway, but it was something that was important to me to stop. Why would I hug people so many times like that? Why would I use touch as some weird gesture that meant nothing to me or them?

Fast forward to now, and for the most part those aunts and uncles still don't hug me. My grandmother is long dead, so those have stopped, too. I'm still stingy with my hugs but these days it's due to shitty self esteem and a strong sense of self doubt. This, ladies and gentlemen, is adulthood, and one of the many reasons I stay up late eating cheesecake alone in front of the t.v. at night. It might also be the reason for the teardrops on my guitar, but I can't remember if that was me or Taylor Swift.

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