mister_guy

I had a thought in the car...I don't really...yeah, I know where it came from. I was thinking about the fact that I can be perfectly content with little conversation between me and my wife. All I need is physical contact. To me, a touch here, a caress there, is my way of showing my love, a way of showing with a simple gesture, or several, that I'm thinking of you and enjoying your company. (Yes, this is directed at someone, as it's easier to type some things than speak them.)

So during this thought process, I thought of one of my favorite movies, Equilibrium, and realized why one part stuck with me so vividly when for others, it seems something trifle. When Cleric John Preston takes off his glove, he runs his hand along the rail, and he feels the not-quite smooth, whisper-of-friction feel of the brushed steel as he walks up the long stairway. To me, as I walk anywhere, as I sit in various places, as I think, listen to music, write, whatever, I constantly pick at things, trace tangible lines with my fingers, feel the soft smooth skin of my wife's back, sides, stomach, and it's as if I see more with my hands than I do with my stygmatism-afflicted eyes. (And that's why I constantly want to touch and squeeze and feel.)

Sometimes, I'm just not in the mood for words.

But a good yaaaarrrr always works.