I Miss Touching
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Adulting

I Miss Touching

It's a form of expression I think, touching. You touch me in places, I touch you in places. The all-over-everywhere or -nowhere-at-all of the act is how I know if I love you. If I am in love. How individual we are. I've been alone for a while now, the only person I touch is me.

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I Miss Touching
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The want is so deep it enters through my mouth, exits through my body, crashing through the floor boards. Just for a glide, a push, a choking, even. For a kiss. A hug. To feel skin magnetize and weld into each other. Atoms to atoms.

It's a form of expression I think, touching. You touch me in places, I touch you in places. The all-over-everywhere or -nowhere-at-all of the act is how I know if I love you. If I am in love. How individual we are. I've been alone for a while now, the only person I touch is me. But that doesn't mean I can't fantasize myself to you, my love. My eyes closed and body tucked under me, I can imagine us winged and tailed, leaving the ground beneath us as well nosedive into the arms of the other. Or as we kiss again. Or as we magnetize. The beauty of being touched in front of you is that you find it beautiful. Where I see my body as grotesque and overbearing, taking up too much room, you find it a holy grail. You pray to it. When we find yourself, nose to my stomach, I feel our romance is eternal. I feel you are mine. Kissing my own arms, my reflection, I don't feel as possessed as I want to be by you. I have to dress myself pretty to remind myself you still love me ,I wonder if you still will, when we are back together. When we can touch each other again.

The cravings for touch don't limit themselves to sex or romantic love. I miss the way my chin sit on the high shoulder of my best friends, all over 6 feet tall and enjoying their hover over me. I miss the way Evan's shoulders rise when he hugs me, the way Louis laughs into my ear when we're close. The way Neha pretends she doesn't like the intimacy as much as the emotion. I've memorized the way each of them smell, I could draw you the shape of their skeletons. I could draw the patterns of their skin, their hair, on paper perfectly. I say they each feel like magic to touch, but who would believe me, especially if I can't really grow wings and a tail? If I can't sore my skeleton out from my skin and erupt into the sky. If I can't bring myself to them. If I can't touch.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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