Something isn’t right. Perhaps I’m a little screwy. I thought the fear of cooties existed only within childhood realms. It’s come back to me in my twenties however. In grown up terms I think it’d be referred to as a fear of intimacy. In psychological terms PTSD. It snags against the chip on my shoulder catching and consuming my heart. I’m afraid of cooties. Yeah, let’s say that’s the problem. “****” is such an ugly word after all.