Touch

I miss the excitement,

I miss having arms around me,

As our laughs twirl through the air,

I miss the way a touch can speak, when words aren’t

enough

How hands become artists,

painting my body,

From head to toe,

Caressing my face,

Tracing my spine;

It made me feel alive;

But now,

I’m scared of being touched,

And not because their touch hurt,

But because of how much it hurts,

When their touch stops.