I have a physical and psychological need to touch other humans. During the worst 15 years of my depressive state, I denied the need. During my more salient moments I would say that I had no functioning libido, explain that I had no need of companionship.

As when I was turned into a newt, “I got better.”

I have never been so happy to fall asleep with a lover held close, as now. I could not wish for a more intimate intimacy, as now. If you ask, “do you need her?,” I would not have shouted a more emphatic “yes!” than now.

I am old. These situations are not as complex. Needs are acknowledged and met, or forgotten. What we want has taken on an urgency that it lacked, back from so close to the brink.

I am old. These situations are not as complex. I want my sun-scarred lover, now. I want the nipple-of-the-small-sagging-breast. We accommodate. We are more casual and honest than when we were young (and much less naive).

My asexuality was false; yours may be true. I had to reconnect - touch fingertip-to-fingertip - first, but then I raged for a while. I still rage on occasion.

No, I need others and I want some to be close. I am old enough to know the dangers.