Little connections

I start small. I go from completely withdrawn to a conversation. Nothing too deep. Just a conversation. A reconnection. A reminder of what it's like to be a part of the human race. And then I move my way up, just a tiny bit. A conversation again, but this time one about your family, their life, his pain. A deeper connection, one that makes it harder to pretend that I'm alone. I can scurry back into my hole at this point if I chose. I don't have to let that conversation be anything other than a wave, a singularity.
But at this point, if I'm making the effort, I'm generally committed. I WANT to touch again, to feel connected again.
And with that wanting comes the drawing. People start seeing me again. I notice laughter at my jokes, commiserating with my stories, interest in my life. This was lacking before, for that period of time where I'd cut the rope connecting me to you. With the thread of open need I throw across the chasm, I draw you, all of you, to me. Bit by tiny bit, I start to reweave my bridge.
A lunch. A date. A sense of a need fulfilled. A sense of being able to fulfill others needs.

Tiny steps, like tiny nibbles at the edge of something that's almost too rich. I can let them melt on my tongue slowly, enjoy the richness without being overwhelmed by sensations. Each connection a single swallow from a glass that I continuously dump out and refill.
Some day soon I'll start chugging again. Some day soon, I'll forget moderation and drown myself in the orgy of goodness that is connections with the rest of humanity. I'll make myself sick on things that I love the taste of, I'll make bad decisions and chose things my body doesn't want.
And I won't regret it. But I'll withdraw from it again, to start the process over again.