I sit here cross-legged, with my head in my hands staring at the keyboard, my fingers touching at the top of my forehead and my thumbs resting just under my cheekbones. I can hear the wind rising outside and moaning softly through the window as a cold breath rests upon the back of my neck. I can hear the furnace kick in and a moment later I can feel the tepid air rise up beside me. Then for a moment everything fades away to nothing, until the wind begins to rage and howl in protest to the silent calm. The wind rises and falls like the beating of my heart, and when it dies, I wait, listening intently. Sometimes it is the only way I know that I am still alive.
After having written the above and reading it over with a rather quizzical review, I thought of the little picture with the words "If I promise not to kill you, can I have a hug?". I would hazard a guess that if someone were to read what I wrote, they might get the impression that I need a hug. But, me being who I am... I disagree. I have said on numerous occasions that I am not a "huggy" person, but I have come to the point in life where I will offer a hug to someone I know who needs one. I would say that the personal situation determines its necessity. I just came to realize that me receiving a hug would be like me accepting a form of pity, which I don't want or need. Other people giving and receiving hugs is more of a need for tactile human contact... for comfort. I fully understand this, but I just don't require it. Of course though, there are people I know who just burst with the joyous need for hugs and ... well... those I accept with a smile because that is the way they are.