petit morceau

She hugs like she means it.

I can’t explain it any better than that, really. It’s never perfunctory. That was my initial thought the very first time we hugged.

I briefly pondered that she looks shorter when she isn’t so close to you. But bare arms on warm bare arms, as we laced them around each other, snapped me back to the present.

Instinctively she finds a spot – her spot – inside of your guard.

When her cheek presses against yours, it’s like nerve endings are awakened from hibernation. You become aware of every square inch.

The thing about hugs, you see, is that they exist only briefly. The same two people can embrace again later, but it’s not THAT hug. It might be amazing, but a chance was forever lost.

I’ve never been a big hugger. I only hug family, loved ones, and an extremely select group of friends. Hugs are intimate. It’s body against body.

But when it’s done right, it is the exchange of energy. Different, but complementary, particles being passed back and forth.

Good hug physics makes good hug chemistry.

And fires hug biology.

When she hugs you, she’s creating a moment and inviting you to share in it.

She’s offering you a connection. In a world too often devoid of such things, she wants to share one with you.

Just for that fleeting period of time.

Just for the two of you.

Alone.

It’s special.

People nearby have no idea.

When she hugs you, she really means it.

And it breaks your heart a little when it ends.

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