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Only Touch

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He felt fingers tangle in his hair, a soft touch of rough-worn skin and large hands, and he let his eyes remain closed as water dampened his red tresses and fingertips brushed against his hairline, and he listened to the murmur of the water and the singing of birds. He listened to the breath so close, and he wished to reach out and touch the same, to touch more.

But they both had their fears and their reservations and their duties, and so he let himself be only comforted by the touch and by the presence, and he stayed there until he heard a voice call for him in the distance.

The touch vanished and left behind wet trails through his hair and along his skin, and he heard the sound of water closing above a person’s head and only after the water could be heard stilling did he open his eyes to look at the sky so far above, and he pushed himself up and slipped away as quietly as the other.