To feel her touch...

Today I had a discussion group to run. Pam was there; but she went with the other group, we talked only briefly.

My group had about 10 people in it; Marie sat right next to me. I put my badge on the table, and she asked if she could look at it, she held my badge, the badge that symbolises my heart, my being, she had it in her hands.

She was cold in the pub today, so she asked if she could wear my gloves; she did, the thought of her wearing my gloves chilled me. Her beautiful hands inside my gloves; my gloves mean a lot to me; I told her that. I sweated in those gloves, I cried in those gloves, I despaired in those gloves, I walk wearing those gloves every day. She held against my badge, my heart, and my gloves, my hands, today. I feel like her holding them is like having a part of her implanted into me. It sounds so stupid and sentimental I know.

Marie disagreed with some points I made in the discussion; she talked to me briefly and complained a bit. I feel a bit shot down about that; she looked at me as if I was horrible in one suggestion I made. She knows that what is said in the discussion should be disagreed with and is open to discussion, but I feel like I let her down.

She sometimes makes these small gestures, like putting her hand on my shoulder, or to stroke my arm. To feel her touch me makes me feel so small, so humbled, I feel captured by her. I feel completely enslaved by her. To feel her touch is like knowing that I exist, to know that someone knows who I really am, to know that someone sees me in the real world, is my existence itself.

I feel so thrown about emotionally around her, her beauty, her touch, her voice, when she looks at me. I feel like she penetrates into the facade and stares right into my soul; knowing how much that she does about me, I feel like she looks upon me as if I were naked. I am, warts and all, the person I really am. Nothing escapes her acuity; I am me in her eyes.

I don't know what to do. I feel so lost. Do I tell her how I feel? Do I tell her that when I feel her touch it makes me feel enlivened, it makes me feel appreciated, it makes me feel like someone knows, and comforted?

I feel so torn; I want to know how she feels about me. I cannot be Werther, she is not my Lotte.

To hope is to be torn apart...Marie's touch is the stuff of dreams.