did you feel that?

it's not like this is something you can touch.

and yet the promise of touch is what keeps things going, keeps you alive: the promise of the slightest brush of fingers or the whisper of breath exhaled on warm skin.

in silence there is often companionship, a tacit understanding that words would only breach. speech can be the thing that breaks your life.

but a life without touch is simply sterile; your immunity to life wears and you become, slowly but without a doubt terminal, death creeping up on you almost imperceptibly until you wake one day to wonder if you ever really lived at all.