I Touched Her

I wandered about a bit in the artist's studio.  The art appealed.  I looked forward to an opportunity to express my admiration.  The opportunity arrived.  We conversed and then she moved on to converse with others.

I stood there, alone, surrounded by beauty.

I can't recollect exactly how "she" entered my consciousness.  She simply did.

We talked.  Indeed, we talked for hours.

But here's the thing: I touched her.  I know now that she took little note of that.  Why should she?  Many people touch others whilst conversing.  What she didn't/couldn't know was that I wasn't one to touch strangers.

What was a trivial happenstance to her was momentous to me.  I reached out and touched her.  Did it again.  And then again.  I surprised myself.  I didn't understand what was happening.  My mind, obviously, had relinquished control to my heart.  And my heart, as you readers know, has a mind all its own.

I observed (rather surprised/stunned) each time I touched her shoulder.  My hand had moved of my heart's accord.

And I knew...simply knew...there would be more to this story.

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