Hold

A hold…a hug..

Same, similar, each in it’s place..

I feel the difference.

I hear the difference.

I taste the difference.

I voice the difference.

The hug welcomes, perchance a greeting. An acknowledgement of knowing.

It can be measurable. It can be contained. It can represent.

Hug..Hold..

Hug can cause a smile, wipe away a tear, give greeting to the next space, the next sentence.

The hold..the whispered ache of what is engaged.

Hold approaches..lightly traces from the hand to the shoulder. Petals of rain lingered from one place to the next.

The eye release, the shy speculation, the thought of what the hand, the arm, the shoulder may contain.

And knows what it contains.

Space, air between, timid expectation, wanted or pushed aside.

Steps falter, unsure, quizzical look upon the furrowed brow.

A sigh, a release, an acceptance of what is next.

Space cleared, thoughts interrupted, an opening to the moment that has been closed..off..boarded up and nailed closed.

Sideways turn, wrist grasped as one turns to flee..the closeness..

One can not live with, and the closeness one cannot live without.

Panic..thoughts race..what..what if I…???

What if I let go and feel this for a mere moment.

What if I engage and take myself from the this stoic position, this place.

Back turned, whispers spoken, face the hold head on.

Hold breath.

Speak and imploring, pleading to not get to close.

Forget that I exist.

Step in and pull towards..

Oh the shoulders release, break down, head drops, another gentle hand lifts the chin.

Look into this space.

Arms come about the shoulders, pulling in, placing head upon the shoulder, maybe resting on the chest.

hear the heart, hear the breathing. Choppy for the moment, slight staccato, rushes in and then silence.

breathe held, whoosh released, fall into the space. Will I slam into the floor..?

Does the hold catch me.

I cannot breath. I cannot see. This has to all be feeling. No logic can involve me.

No analytical summary of what this does and how. It is.

Eyes mist, thoughts race. How does one know that this is a hold, not a hug.

Not a brief interlude of pity, a pat upon the back. Consolation not asked for.

Did my eyes betray me..?

Did my voice crack when I said the words..” I am good, nothing to worry about here”.

Pulled towards, moved in, arms entwined, push and pull.

Fight, pummel upon the chest. I do not need this…

I needed this years ago, as that child weeping…confusion filling all the gaps and open spaces.

It is here it will not go away.

All that I held as my offense.

All that I used to not need..this.

Came to that hold.

The question I ask myself as this begins..is..

Can I let this hold swallow me up..

Can I be as that child, who lost count of all the holes, being filled with..words and glue..?

What happens when I cannot contain that hold..?

What happens..

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~ by HopeGlenn on April 7, 2017.

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