I resent my neediness.  
So, I put it in a box in the top of my closet where no one would care to pry.  I package my neediness in pretty bows and dress it up disguised as kindness.  My neediness parades around with a mask on its face.  Eyebrows raised in concern “is everything alright?” my neediness asks.  My neediness always texts back.  
My neediness knows that patience is a virtue, but it wonders why waiting so often feels like dying.  My neediness knows the value of laughter.  My neediness does not understand why we are supposed to hide our tears.  My neediness always wants that second serving of chocolate cake and my neediness is always down to cuddle.  My neediness does not understand what is so bad about wanting to be wanted.  My neediness just needs to feel needed.  My neediness does not understand what we are so afraid of.  
I am ashamed of my neediness.  
So, I clamp a hand firmly across its paper-thin lips.  I squeeze so hard that I cannot tell if it is the need inside of me that is aching or if I am simply breaking apart bit by bit.  I do not stop to ask if this is what suffocating feels like.  I press my hand so tightly… so very tightly… that the words “I love you” can never come out.