It’s a verb. It’s a noun. Reach out and touch someone.
I’m not sure where to go with this one. Touch –texture and pressure–is the sense I struggle to process more than any other. If I am overwhelmed emotionally I cannot stand to be touched. It’s like being undercut by a rip tide and swamped by a tsunami at once, being erased and suffocated and destroyed.
That can make giving and receiving comfort complicated, to say the least.
Many of my best and worst memories are wrapped up in touch and my reaction to it. First kiss, first kiss with my beloved Spouseman, first hug I enjoyed receiving (I was 15) first time I realized how good it could feel to give a hug (16) first back rubs given and received (ah, summer camp…) first intimate touches from a baseline single to home run, learning to make touch better…yeah. Mostly good memories, now that I think about it.
Powerful, difficult and vital. That covers my thoughts on touch. It is the best gift a human being can give and receive to another, one worth fighting to appreciate even when I have to fight with myself to accept it. Worth risking everything to offer.
And that’s time. Bah.
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