I had almost forgotten
what it’s like to have that ache
in my chest, what it’s like to
want to touch another person
in any number of small, intimate ways–
not the two-becoming-one way,
but a holding of hands, a head on the shoulder,
the post-it note reminders of a shared affection
displayed right in the living room of our lives.
That touch is not yet mine to claim,
and it may not be that you are the one
to whom I give them.
But the want is there, a want
that I gladly hold in my open hands
for the Giver to leave or take as He pleases,
because He has always held me
and will even if you never do.
But if He grants that I could enact those
little rituals with you, that I could
show you in body what’s going on in my mind,
I would leave these hands empty
so I could give them to you.