Ping

“Everyone needs a place. It shouldn't be inside of someone else.”
― richard siken

“Who are you?” asked the little prince, and added, “You are very pretty to
look at.”
“I am a fox,” said the fox.
“Come and play with me,” proposed the little prince. “I am so unhappy.”
“I cannot play with you,” the fox said. “I am not tamed.”
“Ah! Please excuse me,” said the little prince.
But, after some thought, he added: “What does that mean– ‘tame’?”
“You do not live here,” said the fox. “What is it that you are looking for?”
“I am looking for men,” said the little prince. “What does that mean–
‘tame’?”
“Men,” said the fox. “They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing.
They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for
chickens?”
“No,” said the little prince. “I am looking for friends. What does that
mean– ‘tame’?”
“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. It means to establish ties.”
“ ‘To establish ties’?”
“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little
boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need
of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more
than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we
shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I
shall be unique in all the world. . .”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

“So the great affair is over but whoever would have guessed
it would leave us all so vacant and so deeply unimpressed
It's like our visit to the moon or to that other star
I guess you go for nothing if you really want to go that far.”
― Leonard Cohen

“I strip myself emotionally when I confess need – that I would be lost without you, that I am not necessarily the independent person I have tried to appear, but am a far less admirable weakling with little clue of life’s course or meaning. When I cry and tell you things I trust you will keep for yourself, that would destroy me if others were to learn of them, when I give up the game of gazing seductively at parties and admit it’s you I care about, I am stripping myself of a carefully sculpted illusion of invulnerability. I become as defenseless and trusting as the person in the circus trick, strapped to a board into which another is throwing knives to within inches of my skin, knives I have myself freely given. I allow you to see me humiliated, unsure of myself, vacillating, drained of self-confidence, hating myself and hence unable to convince you [should I need to] to do otherwise. I am weak when I have shown you my panicked face at three in the morning, anxious before existence, free of the blustering, optimistic philosophies I had proclaimed over dinner. I learn to accept the enormous risk that though I am not the confident pin-up of everyday life, though you have at hand an exhaustive catalogue of my fears and phobias, you may nevertheless love me.”
― Alain de Botton, The Romantic Movement: Sex, Shopping, and the Novel