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To be touched is to be overwhelmed

Sensations forced on me

Flooding my brain with unwanted signals

I become aware of every centimeter spaced between the fingers pressing on my back

Every woven cloth fiber that makes up the shirts on the touching bodies

Every bone under my hands

Every muscle pressed to my chest

Every second passing as I wonder

“Is this too long?

“Is it too tight?

“Am I conveying something beyond just hello?”

When a hand lands on my shoulder, I jump

When arms brush my own, I skitter away

There is safety in the open space around my body.

The transition came when the safety could be found in the open space around another’s body

And when it was conveyed that the length and pressure and existence of touch

Could simply

Exist.

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Thank you so much for sharing

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I still remember hardly able to breathe when her hand brushed mine.

Thank you.

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