touch

Touch.

A girl in my Art History class wrote her final dissertation on touch. When I heard about it, I thought to myself…damn…why didn’t I think of that.
Well I am going to write about it now.

Touch.
It is, for me, the most human of our senses. Tactility.
It provides us with contact, and a physicality that seeing, smelling, hearing even tasting lack. That shiver that goes through you when you touch cold glass or metal. Or what about when you run your hands under the tap? Sometimes I keep my hands under running water for a really long time.
What about when you feel heat? When you burn yourself...accidentally of course...and then you have to put toothpaste on it...I hate it when that happens...

What about touching flesh?Someone else’s flesh. Someone elses plump warm flesh. A piece of flesh that you could brush over softly with the palm of your hand over and over again; or sink your nails into until they pierce through.
There is a mother’s touch. That maternal one that reassures you. I guess.
There is a lover’s touch. One that kills you so badly inside.
Without a doubt, they provide you with different thoughts and feelings, but they are both humans communicating in the most sensitive manner.

I don’t feel comfortable writing much more at this point in time…