clasp hands

 November 10, 2011

When the wind starts blowing cold and the days start going dark, I find my energy levels dropping and my head drooping.  My thoughts become overwhelmed with the desire for warmth and human contact.  I become distractible and moody, prone to self-pity and vague anxieties.  I daydream of the heat of arms wrapped tight, the beat of a heart, breath whispering across my neck. I need close contact and a sharing of selves to keep the loneliness at bay.  When I try to express these desires I find people become confused.  They think of sweat, red lips, gasps and grasps.  I don’t think they understand the difference between intimacy and sex.  I want, I need hands on my body and a voice in my ear, but as a way to reconnect with other humans, not simply to “get off”.  I daydream of legs intertwined with mine, but on a couch curled together over books.  Or of elbows locked and a head on a shoulder, but walking together through fog.  Sometimes I even wish for lips on flesh, but pressed to a forehead, a cheek.  We are not meant to spent so much time alone, without basic human contact.  We belong in the arms of our fellow humans without obligation or libidinal expectations.  We need intimacy to survive, to assert our worth, to assuage our isolation, to keep the winter away.  We need to clasp hands in acknowledgement of each other.

We need to press skin to skin to remind ourselves that we are not alone.

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