"I like the idea of touch," i told her.

"What does that mean?" she asked. So i showed her.

The heels of our hands came together and the tips of our fingers touched. 

"See, you can feel my hand," she nods. Then i part, her hand from my hand.

A centimeters space between the two. 

Enough that we weren't touching, but enough space to feel the heat our hands were creating.

"Now you can't. You can see my hand, but we're not touching," she's curious, confused.

"That's what it woudl be like if we couldn't feel anything. Seeing, not feeling."

Her hand pulled away and she stared at the creases in her palm.

"I never thought of it like that.



Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741