by Neelam Singh
I have a hunger to be held. An instinctual urge to feel close to you.
We’re subconscious. You embrace me, and it’s like I knew you in another lifetime.
You press your body into mine, and the collision is cosmic. We once were stars, and after all this time, our atoms finally get to reunite.
A warmth so intimate; our touch is a wildfire disguised as a slow burn.
My air gets caught in an exhale, and the pressure of your torso lulls it to sleep.
But you’re not here. You haven’t been for some time now. You aren’t anybody. You’re just, anybody.
I’ve been alone for so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be held.
To feel a foreign body that is not at all strange. To feel tender in long, firm arms.
You forget what it’s like to be touched by someone who has chosen you. No one special. No godly pairing. Just… someone.
I’m calling for you. No Love, not you. Your relatives.
It feels good to be needed. It feels good for heads to fall heavy and fingers to lose grip. It feels good for chests to synchronize and coax one another to rest.
It feels good. Or it would, if I remember right.
Come, hold me.
Lay here. Reach out. Touch me.
So this is what it’s like to be lonely.
Banner image courtesy of Flickr.