Touch Me

Touch Me

Photo By Michelle Murphy

He took me to a place that was sunny and quiet. A place where flowers disappeared under the absence of sunlight and lizards walked freely from pond to pond, from tree to tree. The place was cozy, hidden, and magical. At night and by the water, the stars magnificently painted a different sky than the morning and afternoon skies. At night, the air was somewhat warm and sweet. At night, we hid. We let our bodies belong to each other and to the night itself. We slept in a hammock under a sheltering sky that was more a witness than a background. The hammock was comfortable and spacious enough to bring us peace and perfect sleep. The night was calm and fragrant and offered us a break from the life in the city. We could just be in that hammock. We didn't have to be anywhere else. We were free. For a while. 

During the day, our routine was a routine of lov(e)-ing. Loving and loving. Desperate search to get closer and closer to another being. To share his essence. To belong. To distract myself from my urges, my own loneliness. We promised the world to each other. We murmured sacred vows. We forgot about the sun, the lizards. The ocean, right there. But we were inside. We hid. For a while. 

He took me to a place I don't usually go. He intensified my desire to reach out. My desire to challenge my very own existence by loving someone else. We went swimming. And the water was dark. I couldn't breathe. It was too much love. Too much water. Too much salt. I thought I was drowning. He taught me a lesson. We walked slowly back. Back to our little oyster. And he touched me with his hands. And the world was ours. We hid. For a while. 

Then we walked some more and we went to a forest. And he slowly and gently touched a Mimosa Pudica and its leaves slowly turned into a touch-me-not. Even though his touch was soft and carefully placed, it shrunk. I was touched by how careful he was and yet the plant would not stay put. It started moving like a live flying fractal structure. Leaf after leaf. That very same touch affected that little plant just like it had for so many hours affected me. His gentleness creating Tsunamis in my body. Mimosa Pudica. We hid. For a while. 

Somehow I see life in pictures. The spacious little French cafe at the corner. The sky with chunky clouds. The boats. The keys. The little Kiwi Room. The little animals. A pool. The sun. The kisses. The fruit that tasted like crushed peanuts. Your finger caressing me under the water. All of it in frames. Our words even. Our long nights and our warmth. My voice getting louder and louder once and time again. Trying to find you in that space between us. Somehow. Getting close to you made me vulnerable and just like the little Mimosa Pudica, I had to shrink away. What my heart desires the most is to be close to. To be touched. To be taken. Voraciously. Without if's. Without hiding. What does he want, I wonder. 

Now that I sit here alone and ponder about the power of his touch, I ask myself, is he ever going to touch my soul? Or am I always going to shy away from his soft touch? 

I scream: touch me! I am not that little plant. Touch me again! Come closer. I want to see you again. I don't ever want to be a touch-me-not. Under the stars. Under the ceiling. In the ocean. Come closer, I say. I beg. I want to love. Love redeems and creates. It makes one happy. And if it's true that one is born and dies alone, it is also true that one lives trying to find the one. For a while.

Dedicated to F.A.