I love a lot of people, and I love them a lot. They say things that surprise me. They accomplish things that inspire me. They comfort me, sometimes from eight hundred miles away.
But I love them like the moon loves the Earth. Even when we’re sitting on the same couch. I watch the world through a telescope, through a wall of screens and speakers. It’s not that I want to; it’s that my mind is built like a bunker. It’s the way I was born.
Touch hurts. Physical contact is fine, I mean; I can hug with the best of them. Connections of words are a different issue. Eye contact is a direct threat; it’s like my soul is damaged by exposure to the atmosphere. Someone asks a question, and fear is all that rattles through me.
I don’t intend to be a flake, a hermit, an Eeyore. I would never make a call or send an email at all if I didn’t want to check in, maintain some kind of contact. I’m afraid it looks cold. I’m afraid it looks like apathy. In my own language, it’s “I love you.”
