For months, I’ve been struggling with the urge to touch her each time we’ve met. Kissing a hand that nursed my wounds was the most intimate contact I allowed myself, aside from that one weakened moment when I could not resist touching her face. It nearly broke me. But, I’ve known that if I let myself go any further, there wouldn’t be a way to go back. I rarely wish for things in life, because I know how seldom I get them. But when I do, the urge to keep them is a maniacal, visceral need. To never let go.
