My clenched hands sit deep in my pocket, but I reach. My entire body sways back and forth, but I reach. My wide eyes close slowly, but I reach. Each creative thought that passes is extended and captured before I can touch. I can feel it coming, but my unseen hands cannot feel beyond the pocket that encloses what has not been written.
I reach for something in the shortest distance, but they cannot feel it for me. It is so close I can practically hear the descriptive words I cannot find. They cannot see what is unwritten if they cannot touch what is missing. What has been given to me now is a simple touch that cannot be forgotten. My inhibitions will be forever stricken.
I do not fear to reach to release my pain because one simple touch will train my mind to never again live in vain. I do not dare try to understand what I cannot touch, but I reach for what I can see. My heart is going boom, boom, boom but my hands remain absentee.
I desperately want to grab what I cannot touch but understand my hands are perfectly positioned within my plan. I will no longer reach with my hand but withstand what I see in pain. I can witness what I cannot touch because I can feel beyond a simple touch, I feel without weakness, I feel without touch.