Growing up I dreaded the human touch.  The main touches I received were painful and wrong.  I guess when you get the wrong kind of touches and then the right kind and then have people not wanting to touch you at all, it can be quite confusing.  I withdrew my hand and as I was approaching my tax preparer Galar decided to growl a bit and the elderly gentleman grabbed my arm to steady me.  It felt odd again, but Galar’s growls were more intense than the gentleman’s hand holding my arm.  I got lost in the tax preparation process and didn’t give it much thought beyond until I left the center and slid into my car.  Most people don’t ponder the touch of others.  Being a writer is a solitary life.  Having a chronic illness brings about even more solitude.  Sometimes I  believe I should be used to this, but then I feel the pain of being so disconnected.

There are different kinds of touches.  Here I only look at the kinds appropriate for public viewing.  You have the intimate touch of a hug and kiss from a friend in greeting.  Then on the opposite end of the spectrum is the sterile touch as when my doctor examines my ears or someone reaches out to help steady me when I am off balance.  Then you have the middle ground, a handshake in greeting or farewell.  Usually I am only receiving the sterile touches and have gotten to where I don’t even feel it unless the doctor is performing a procedure.  Perhaps once a year I am lucky enough to receive the intimate touch as someone will feel the need to take pity and come visit me.  Those I have come to not expect at all in my life and when they do occur, I am usually so overwhelmed that I cry.  It is the touches in the middle that make me stop and wonder.  Enjoy those you care about and make sure they know how much by at the very least, embracing them when you see them.  Don’t let them form the idea that touching is wrong or has to hurt.

I sit here
all alone
within the sanctum
I call my soul
It is here,
among the memories,
I sit…
I watch…
I ponder on.
To the painful thoughts
I bid farewell
the nightmares
they vanish
as misty, moonlit dew.
Scars, which seem
centuries old,
blur and fade
into the seams
of the fortress strong.

Subsumed by darkness
trying to find
memories past,
thoughts fleeting through;
pleasant,
sweet,
pretty, genteel
Did they ever exist?
Have I known them at all?
Searching the boundaries
seeking the words
receiving a hollow knell.

The acropolis is strong,
not built in a day.
Year after year
enriched,
fortified
tears and fear
mix well for cement
plastered to the pain
erected to last
these walls
will not come down.

December 22, 2009

© DL Bach