“What do you want, Lark?” He asked again, and his inner elegy was so deafening it pierced my walls. There was something he was hiding from me, something I had not figured out. I want to be wanted. He stiffened, and I realized I had let him hear. I had let him in. Just a bit. He was so close, and my need was loud. “I want you,” he said, his voice sharp. You don’t want me. You need me. I am of use. It isn’t the same thing.
