If It's Aching You Have To rub It

I wanted fame more than I wanted freedom. I wanted all eyes on me, always. There was this constant need to be noticed, to be desired, to be wanted so badly it made me sick. I genuinely believed that if enough people loved me, I'd finally feel whole.

Eventually, the entire world knew my name. But the applause didn't fix anything; it just made the silence louder. I was drowning in validation and still starving for more.

And then I met him.

He understood the hunger, the isolation of being worshiped but never actually seen. He looked right through the persona I built like it was nothing but glass. In return, he let me see the raw, unfiltered parts of himself that he hid from the rest of the world.

I realised the world's attention could never satisfy me because it was too superficial. I didn't need the hollow praise of strangers to cure the void inside me. I needed a deeper hurt. I needed a sharp, intoxicating pain that belonged to just one person.

Michael didn't fix my ache. He replaced it. He became the only ache I ever wanted to feel.

We were Addictive. Untouchable. Dangerous.