I Hate Your Hugs

I hate your hugs.

Subtle reminders that you belong to another, yet also a touch of warmth that surges through my inner being and swallows me whole into a world where nothing else exists but you and me.

It’s complete and total torture. For nothing else on earth could tempt me so. No drug, no drink, no experience, first or otherwise can compare to even the briefest moment of you engaged in my embrace. I could live in this moment for eternity. But in truth, I can’t.

You see, my reluctance to welcome touch from any other being has been long and deeply rooted from a need for more; comfort, understanding, depth, trust, feeling, passion. And those who cannot provide such could never appeal to me enough to welcome any touch beyond a shake at best, purely for business sake.

But you my dear possess all of the above and more. Something I cannot find words for, but who needs words when you can hold her tangibly in your arms, and for a moment of perfect bliss, two souls blend into one heavenly symposium of ecstasy?

A hug. A simple gesture of caring and “friendship”. Yet if it were only a starting point for a journey we could take together, openly, unhindered and free…oh what places we would go and things that we would see. Oh what explorations of heart, soul, mind, and body we would embark upon, endless, boundless, wild, romantic, sexy and ever climactic. Oh, how I desire it so.

But, no. Your arms retract and smile gleams of limitations, barriers and restrictions, as you speak of drama and uncertainty in your own loving relations with another. All the while I sit and listen, taking notes of all that I shall miss when you turn and walk away, waving goodbye as you leave and make haste your home with him.

He is clueless. He doesn’t understand your heart and what amazing gifts he has in you. And I don’t understand what keeps you returning to his side, knowing well how little he appreciates, reciprocates, listens, cares, or provides. But you choose him, and I don’t resent you for it. I only want you to love and be loved, and whatever that choice is, that’s yours to decide. So I happily wave goodbye.

And I return to my reality, and cook another evening dinner, table set for one. Until next time, I reluctantly must settle for another friendly hug.