the need for the touch
of another. It feels like I haven't been touched, truly touched, in ages. I was so thirsty for something that I didn't even know that I needed, but an easy need to fufill. All it took was a simple hand on my shoulder
, a hand on my wrist
, a plea
to stop my tears
. Reassurance that I am real, that I have a physical presence
, becoming aware
of a need
at the same time that it's fufilled.
And how was I to know, much later, that you felt it too, that you felt more with that touch than I did. That night, you took my hand and confessed an attraction to me, I stared dumbly, not sure what I should say. And two nights later we had our first kiss at five in the morning.
And months, almost a year later, it's still about you. We sit in the movies together, my left hand crosses my body and grips the edge of the cupholder between our seats and your right hand is doing the same. There are mere millimeters between our skin, but it feels like miles, and I ache for you. Your hand brushes against mine, and I nearly pass out from the contact.