I wanted so much to write about your soft, careful touch on my arms and my hands. How you slide your fingers ever so meticulously over the outer parts of me, teasing a sensation to come forth, to grow from the inside out, knowing all along your touch is the touch of love.
Your touch is the touch of a mother on baby’s soft back side, the comforting touch of her when the child later stumbles and cuts his or her knee, the firm touch to the face and chin directing that child’s head toward your loving eyes and stern expression, while saying, “Listen: You are good, and don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”
Your touch is to die for.
Now. Not in some future, but this very moment as I recall it in all its sweetness. I recall the past touch as if it just occurred and did not actually happen some time ago. It is one long present moment that I think of when I recall this touch of yours.
It makes me want to use my appendage, to humbly try to bring a small pleasure to you, my beautiful child. “My dearest one.”
May I call you that? “Dearest!” “My Dearest.” You are so dear to me, the dearest. For you are the closest to my heart than anyone, save the Creator who brought you into my presence, into my arms, and into my very being!
When I touch you, I want you to feel love over every inch I hope to slowly move the fingertips, praying that I too can awaken in you the softer side of love and caring.
Please believe me You can trust again. I won’t hurt you. Not in this moment.
I will not harm you. For, I am love. You are love. We are love together. And in the name of all love that has ever been and ever will be you know that I am yours and you’re mine right now.
It’s a divine possession we share, formed from an internal pure and clear light of understanding and wisdom. And joy, let’s not forget the bliss of joy that sets us apart from any and all other attractions by something less divine than the perpetual, primordial, infinite love of the universe.
It is a divine love that we tap into when we give all of ourselves so that the other person might live in love.
It is pure, unselfish. It is what soul mates are made of and from. And, it started with the first magical, mystical touch!
My God, what inspired you to write this?
Better yet. “Who” inspired you to write it?
I bet I know who, but I ain’t telling.
— a close friend
It’s been a while since I read your comment. Can you tell me who you think my love message was to?