What do you need to live? Food, oxygen, etc.?

What about love? Do you need love? Is it really a nessecity, or just a naive way of killing time?

 Do you need to be held, to be noticed, to be anything but alone?

Or do you just think you do?

Poor Thing wasn't sure anymore. It seemed crazy to her, but as of late, she'd give anything to not be alone. She was throwing away thought, friendships, dignity...

And he still didn't notice. Or, if he did, he truly didn't care. That's not something you can take sitting down.

After all, how many times can a battered heart be broken before it refuses to beat again?