Posted by JayMac on September 24, 2008, at 19:13:12
The hairs on my arm are no more than one centimeter high, yet they cover my skin just enough. I examine them. Soft, blonde, and barely noticeable would accurately describe these filaments. Amongst the afternoon breeze, these translucent hairs dance above my freckled skin. My skin cheers as my hairs stand at attention in the defeat against the November chill. To many, these hairs are really just hairs. Yet, I see them as more than just hairs. They preserve the outer extension of my psyche. They hang tight to the somatization of my existence. I can allow them, in a gentle caress, to embrace another's arm, another's hair. Filled with delight, together the hairs play in the affection that brought them together. And to conclude that these playful hairs never part, would romanticize the story. But let us suppose that these hairs pause only to conjure another, eventful meeting. The hairs come back to the existence of being alone and among many. My hairs come back to the excitement of dancing on my skin, cheering with the chill, and existing for the next delightful encounter of connection.
poster:JayMac
thread:853860
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20080605/msgs/853860.html