Sometimes I just need a hand to hold
There were times when I craved physical contact. Dark times. I would slowly climb up on my mother's lap, and she whould hold me as if our lives depended on it. It probably did back then. I felt protected. I felt loved. Words weren't needed between us. She whould tell me stories about how Earth used to be, and I would fall asleep with the sound of waterfalls and the smell of wood.
Every time she was around, every time her hands were on my arms, my shoulders, or even when she ruffled my hair with a proud smile, I felt like the world had suddenly became a better place. She didn't need to tell me how much she loved me, I knew it because she was always here, by my side, to help me go through all the major events of my life. Sometimes just to hold my hand during the most difficult ones. That was all that mattered.
As time went on, I began using words. I was required to use words. The people around me didn't know how to comminucate otherwise, they wanted me to explain my thoughts on topics I didn't care so much about, to come up with ideas that were discussed for hours. I didn't want to talk, I wanted to feel. I hated them for that. I hated them for making me a part of their world. They made the little boy I once was run away. He left me as I became one of them.
It took me several years to convince myself I didn't need physical contact anymore. The coldness didn't go away. I accepted it. I avoided the one person who could heal me, afraid to find out I still needed her. I hurt her. It hurt me. More than I was ready, willing to admit. I wasn't hers anymore. She accepted it. She didn't hold me back. I wish she had. I was what they expected me to be. It made me lonely and cold.
Years. Decades. I took a few steps back. Finally, her arms moved towards me again. The hopelessness left me. I felt whole. Her hands on my back made my nightmares go away. I was home. That was all that mattered.
I welcomed the touch, the almost foreign touch. I leaned into it. I remembered the freedom I felt as a child, I remembered the trees, the rivers, the mountains I used to dream about every single night. I remembered who I was meant to be. Thankfulness crept inside me as I hold on to her.
The day came when she left. I hold her hand as she slipped further and further away from me. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know. May we meet again.
When lonelines was threatening to overwhelm me, another hand found its way up to mine. The sensation was strange but it sent shivers up my spine. She made me crave for physical contact. Again. I felt the little boy come back. I was warm. Again. I was alive. At last.
I hold her. I am here for her. She holds me. She knows how to help me. Our eyes meet. We don't need words. Sometimes I just need a hand to hold.
Written thanks to a prompt line I got from the alloftheprompts blog on Tumblr.