I need it.
I’m not sure why. I have suspicions – I imagine that, as an infant, I cried, unattended, in my crib, longing to be held.
Maybe this happened.
Maybe it didn’t.
Psychic truth may or may not have anything to do with objective, real-world events.
My psychic truth is that this happened, and that, as a result, I find myself, today, both craving and fleeing touch.