Knowing what it feels like to touch an other opens a world of possibilities of loss.
Sight crosses space.
Words have form.
Touch lives in memory alone, outside moments of connection. Touch is not being alone amid bravery and misdirection. Touch is being undeniably present with an other until we are separated again and all I have is unreliable memory to tell me it was so.
Knowing what it feels like to touch another
to hold, to be held, to be still against someone else’s skin for a time
opens a space for the rest of the world to fall away for a moment.