Sunday, November 1, 2009

touching.

"Greatly in need of comfort and support, I said to Elder Corelli, “I don’t suppose you’d let me hug you?”

He shook his head. “You know I can’t, Sister Welker.”

I stared at my hands, tangled in my lap. “Can I hold onto your shirt sleeve, then?”

He nodded, so I grasped the edge of his sleeve between my thumb and forefinger and held it, trying to pretend it was a form of human contact that offered any solace.

In any event, it was all I had."

(from The New York Times: Modern Love)




How often do we find ourselves in the position of approximating touch?
Old sweatshirts.
Songs.
Foods.
Dance.