The first touch

There was a moment of hesitation, a tentative movement. And then, he let go. She reached out to him and he felt a dusty, dormant string within him, untouched for ages, plucked. A touch connected two fingers and broke a silence that had been stinging him unknowingly. It stirred something; like an uncoiling of a spring. In a flash, he saw two springs coiling together and his life getting tinged by the fragrant color of her being. It was a strange feeling of another presence. Like a tactile expression of abstract life previously unimaginable. It gave birth to a desire for togetherness that he had earlier found whimsical, absurd. That two lives could connect and feel each other with such a mysterious intimacy was inconceivable. He felt he could see life through the mirror of another vision. Perhaps it was an illusion and that illusion necessitated her presence.

The flash of colors that sang inside made him aware of an utter loneliness within him. Its these rare beautiful moments when we deeply relate to someone that make us aware of the empty passages of life in between. The contrast deepens the void. The daily din of life desensitizes us, cons us into living. Her touch was a momentary celebration of a liberating death. Life has befriended time. Beauty and death still belong to the glorious realm of timelessness. Like a sponge we absorb life drop after drop. A hand comes along and squeezes the sponge - there is a fleeting glimpse of harmony, a soothing emptiness that itself sucks in life and life gushes in.