March 2 - Falling, Next to Love

What is a caress supposed to feel like?

I imagine sometimes that I can feel it.  Glancing at an empty wall and wondering what transpires in the apartment next to mine.  The one that sounds like love on new-moon-black nights and the one that sounds like lust on midsummer.  My lower back tingles when I imagine that I might feel someone care enough to run their fingers across my bare skin in the morning.  And I know I am not just warm because of the heat of a tropical summer in a temperate climate. 

I imagine sometimes that it is the languid stretch of a cat.  Are you there? It asks.  In much the same way that I Am Locking You In solidifies and confirms the fact that you might love me enough to stop the psychopathic Chatty Kathy that might walk by.  You always feared talkative people more than murderers.  Sometimes I think to myself that that is a more reasonable fear, but then I think that I can handle talkative people but not a murderer.  I can handle many things, but you know how I feel about pain.

I imagine sometimes that the softest touch might be deeper than the ocean.  A friend asked me to check her face for stubble burn once.  I looked at her cheek for redness but saw nothing but the beauty she refused to see.  Interest is a funny thing.  I can never tell when to stop hoping that something might happen.  Even if that something is a definitive end.

I am falling next to love.  Whether I have been in love is a question for the people I have known.  But I have been next to love very often.  And nothing is more torturous than the happiness of others.