Touched

It's a difficult thing, to withdraw from a touch on moral grounds, when one aches to be touched. Aches to have someone want to touch them, to desire them nonchalantly; not out of lust as much as out of acceptance. Many lucky people are touched routinely and without a thought, and reassured of their own desirability by partners who may or may not even truly love or accept them. Still, they get touched. They are able to take their acceptability for granted, and have a bowl filled to the top with spare reassurances shown them in passing. Touches they don't need and may not consciously notice. But for the lonely, the isolated, a touch opens a gate back into humanity. It's difficult not to rush that gate, let alone pass it by. Because of "morality?!"

I sat quietly beside her in the airport as she, talking to her husband on the phone, casually traced the outline of my bare ankle with her finger. I stayed still and feigned indifference.

© Corrin Green