Comfort? So foreign.

•Soft blankets and warm tea.

•The feeling of walking into a room and not being expected to leave.

•When someone really hears me instead of just listening.

1. Warm things always make me comforted, it's like a replica of sorts of my mothers comfort. It reminds me of better days of past.

2. I never quite feel wanted when I enter a room, like my breathing of your air is a type of burden and my presence unhinges people's patience. It's nice to be wanted around.

3. People always(more often than not) listen to me and my words enter one ear and drift out the other. When someone really hears me they listen with their heart and experience of pain and relate. They aren't waiting until I finish talking to burst in with their words, of which they had already planned while I was talking, with generic meaning to meander the conversation to their own problems and sweep mine under the rug.