As we danced the night away, the crowd pushed me closer to Jose.
He dances sort of wildly... he likes to throw his hands up in the air.
We were in the middle of bouncing up and down, when some idiot girl pushed me from behind and sent my face directly into Jose's shoulder. My cheekbone bounced hard against Jose's deltoid.
I laughed.
Immediately, Jose reached for my face and gently, but oddly firmly, rubbed his thumb across my cheek... in a gentle, quick pinching fashion... if that makes sense.
Some people have this strange affect on me-- their touch lingers.
I know I've mentioned it numerous times, but it's only because I probably only mention it when I come across a person whose hands/arms have this power.
The touch lingers because it feels like... I get a sense of... it feels like they understand me... a sense of caring. There's a gentleness to it, but at the same time feels unusually hot... like I'm getting burned. I feel every finger, even the mounds of flesh on their palms.
A few weeks ago, one of my friends reached over to clasp my right forearm with both of his hands. I could tell he thought about it because he did it cautiously. I had told him something that made him sad, and he was compelled to comfort me, but comforted me cautiously. He gently squeezed my arm, and the burning sensation it sent through my body made me look down at his hands, then back at his face.
"... how long have you been waiting to touch me? Looks like when someone convinces himself to pet an alligator. But thank you..."
As Jose tried to "wipe away" the injury he had accidentally caused my left eye, I felt... so comforted. I smiled, closed my eyes, and allowed him to cradle my face. His firm grip on my cheek made me melt. The gentleness of his caress made my knees weak. That strange warmth his touch was emitting comforted me to the point where I had to back away before I lost the war with my tears.
It's so weird how I can sense people's sympathy for me based solely in their touch. I don't allow many people that right-- to touch me.
So many hands have slapped or poked or punched me... but the memory of them fade within minutes.
I'm always, ALWAYS shocked when I find those few whose hands possess the ability to leave lasting, comforting impressions on my skin. It makes my heart stop... my throat close... my heart burst.
I forget my troubles for those few seconds, and for that instant, begin to believe some people out there actually give a shit about me.
Not everyone out there is hellbent on hurting me, and this truth I truly appreciate... and need.
He dances sort of wildly... he likes to throw his hands up in the air.
We were in the middle of bouncing up and down, when some idiot girl pushed me from behind and sent my face directly into Jose's shoulder. My cheekbone bounced hard against Jose's deltoid.
I laughed.
Immediately, Jose reached for my face and gently, but oddly firmly, rubbed his thumb across my cheek... in a gentle, quick pinching fashion... if that makes sense.
Some people have this strange affect on me-- their touch lingers.
I know I've mentioned it numerous times, but it's only because I probably only mention it when I come across a person whose hands/arms have this power.
The touch lingers because it feels like... I get a sense of... it feels like they understand me... a sense of caring. There's a gentleness to it, but at the same time feels unusually hot... like I'm getting burned. I feel every finger, even the mounds of flesh on their palms.
A few weeks ago, one of my friends reached over to clasp my right forearm with both of his hands. I could tell he thought about it because he did it cautiously. I had told him something that made him sad, and he was compelled to comfort me, but comforted me cautiously. He gently squeezed my arm, and the burning sensation it sent through my body made me look down at his hands, then back at his face.
"... how long have you been waiting to touch me? Looks like when someone convinces himself to pet an alligator. But thank you..."
As Jose tried to "wipe away" the injury he had accidentally caused my left eye, I felt... so comforted. I smiled, closed my eyes, and allowed him to cradle my face. His firm grip on my cheek made me melt. The gentleness of his caress made my knees weak. That strange warmth his touch was emitting comforted me to the point where I had to back away before I lost the war with my tears.
It's so weird how I can sense people's sympathy for me based solely in their touch. I don't allow many people that right-- to touch me.
So many hands have slapped or poked or punched me... but the memory of them fade within minutes.
I'm always, ALWAYS shocked when I find those few whose hands possess the ability to leave lasting, comforting impressions on my skin. It makes my heart stop... my throat close... my heart burst.
I forget my troubles for those few seconds, and for that instant, begin to believe some people out there actually give a shit about me.
Not everyone out there is hellbent on hurting me, and this truth I truly appreciate... and need.
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