They all say, touch is a big deal. Must be, and why wouldn't it be.
She has a faintly distinct memory of when she touched him. For the very first time. Straps in sandals are tricky things. First, she didn't even know why those straps were needed to be. Probably to hold her feet in place. But we are firmly grounded people, no one foot in the air. She thought, and always picked up those without knowing why. Every other day, the few lame seconds that were lost in putting those straps on, looking for a pillar or a wall to hold on to, (you know right?) she regretted a tinge even, the loss of time. One day, however. Was it on a temple stairs or something?, that they had removed their shoes before getting in. That after they got out, somewhat looking for a wall or a pillar to hold on to so that she could slide in those straps, caught his sleeve in a pinch between her thumb and index finger. For the other foot, placed a hand on his shoulder. And etc. In retrospect, it sank in. Through the pores of fingers, through the lines on her palm. In a delayed reflex, when it reached her heart, she felt the touch. Right there.
Later, his crumpled shirt. Smelt partly of perfume. And the rest, had whiffs of his sweat. Tingling her nostrils. Moistening eyes. For no plenty reason. Reason is never plenty. For anything at all. She never understood that part either (Second?!). The whiffs sank into her head. Through tortuously secret nasal pipes. And the touch sank into her head. Right there. Nailed it.
Touch, they say, is a big deal. Must be, and why not?!
She has a faintly distinct memory of when she touched him. For the very first time. Straps in sandals are tricky things. First, she didn't even know why those straps were needed to be. Probably to hold her feet in place. But we are firmly grounded people, no one foot in the air. She thought, and always picked up those without knowing why. Every other day, the few lame seconds that were lost in putting those straps on, looking for a pillar or a wall to hold on to, (you know right?) she regretted a tinge even, the loss of time. One day, however. Was it on a temple stairs or something?, that they had removed their shoes before getting in. That after they got out, somewhat looking for a wall or a pillar to hold on to so that she could slide in those straps, caught his sleeve in a pinch between her thumb and index finger. For the other foot, placed a hand on his shoulder. And etc. In retrospect, it sank in. Through the pores of fingers, through the lines on her palm. In a delayed reflex, when it reached her heart, she felt the touch. Right there.
Later, his crumpled shirt. Smelt partly of perfume. And the rest, had whiffs of his sweat. Tingling her nostrils. Moistening eyes. For no plenty reason. Reason is never plenty. For anything at all. She never understood that part either (Second?!). The whiffs sank into her head. Through tortuously secret nasal pipes. And the touch sank into her head. Right there. Nailed it.
Touch, they say, is a big deal. Must be, and why not?!
3 comments:
and the whole life i would long for that one touch!!
nice description!
Not really. Never. Not knowing peace the way I don't know it, is a scary thing.
Post a Comment