Sense of Touch.

I love the way it feels to turn a page in an old book, the tattered sheets of recycled wood pulp broken down over the years from all of the readers that flipped your pages. The feel of my grandmothers wrinkled hands when she reaches for mine and holds my hand while we talk. The soft cotton from the old blanket in my bed, I love to have it wrapped around me so I can feel its warmth. I love feeling sobered by your expression. Anything skin to skin. I love to feel, even when it hurts. The feeling of my baby moving inside of me, reassuring me that you are healthy with every kick. I love the feel of Tigers fur, he loves that I love petting him too. Touching soft flower petals in a garden with the sun on my back. When I leave the house and lock the door behind me I love to hold on to the keys in my pocket.   The feeling you get from loving and being loved and not letting any of it go, even the heartbreaks. I love to touch your tongue to mine until I can’t tell the two apart. The cold side of the pillow in the middle of the night. I love the feel of the long hair that I have just cut and blown dry, my fingers entangled in my craft. But most of all I love how it feels to make someone else feel good, even if it is just for a moment.

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