I want to hug you, but I also don't.
I want your hug, your touch, your comfort
but I can't.
I can't touch you because I'm afraid.
I fear your touch.
It brings joy, happiness, love and comfort,
but with it, it also takes.
When the touch is gone, so is the comfort.
When days span to weeks, my weakness grows,
so I crave your touch,
but I'm also afraid.
I can't ask for a hug because I don't know when the next one will be.
I can't hope for a kiss, because now is not the time.
So instead I crave your touch, hoping and dreading when it will happen again,
because then for one blissful moment, as your arms wrap around me and you give a content sigh.
I'm reminded that this is what I love,
miss and crave.
You and your touch.
So instead I wait for you, trying to withstand this drought,
trying to ignore my wants.
Now is not the time.
Leave him alone.
He has more important things on his mind,
so I wait.
Withstanding a drought I could easily end,
but for some reason refuse.
Instead I take comfort in one constant.
Your shirt, in our bed.
The only thing that helps me suffer through my self-inflicted drought.
