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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