I must admit, the one thing which people here do so freely, touch, is something that I cannot bear.
The touch of my parents repulse me. The hug of a loving aunt repulses me. The helping hand of a caring uncle repulses me. The kiss of my sister repulses me. The casual touch of any friend repulses me, especially if I'm not prepared for it.
I cannot bear being touched if I'm not mentally prepared to accept the touch at least 20seconds before hand. I jerk away and offend them or worse, hurt their feelings. I don't even like touching others in the form of a hug or a kiss. It takes a lot out of me to do it, to share myself in such a familiar way.
Yet your touch. Your touch, I seek.
I feel it like a warm bed of grass on a spring day. A fluffy blanket on a winter night.
The ratty piece of fabric I must cling on to so that I may sleep in the middle of a blazing summer.
The cold, soul numbing feel of the thunderstorm welcoming monsoon into the country. I feel your touch like second nature. Even if I don't see it coming, I feel its comfort the moment your hand lies on my shoulder. I don't jerk away. I don't pull back. I don't feel scared or repulsed.
I love your touch.
But only yours. I don't see germs creeping up my skin when another touches me, no. I don't feel a need to wash myself either like an obsession. I just do not...like it.
But you, your touch makes me feel complete. It feels like the other half that I had been so desperately trying to find.
You hold me like I'm the most precious thing in the world. You kiss me like there might not be a tomorrow.
You touch me like I'm you and you're me.
Touch me.
