I long to talk to a stranger and ask them:

"

Ever worry that,
in your blood there are antibodies
to make you nauseous towards
every.single.person.you.get.close.to?
That we are peering - naked, wet, shivering - into an unfathomable loneliness,
balancing on our toes,
inching, with our mistakes, ever closer to the most personal,
most frightening,
most loathsome loss
we will ever experience?
That you will never reveal yourself
Never be vulnerable
Never be loved or
love the one person with the
right size-of-wrench to fix you?

Your infernal heat, to guard against probing hands, will scatter any hope that the right hands might intrude, and you will die inside, trembling, small, at the thought you will REMAIN ALONE FOREVER.

"

And then, grin, and pause, and they walk away from the unthinkable phrase that describes...
All our bad or separate moments.