Hand me a break

Walking along a brick road your coat's cloth and it's static brushes his, there's that rough sound of friction in the quietness of chatter—it's ignored, but not forgotten.

Moments later, it happens again. This time you both smile a little because you're nervous. Then, as the story goes, his arm flies around you or your hands both dangle separately in that cliff-hanging stomach-pit feeling sort of way until—at last—finger by finger they interlock with each other. Literally, handing each other a line.

It's not the knight and shining armor rescues that are truly heroic, it's the every day tiny moments when one person saves another.

It's a stepping stone in the non-drunk world of hooking up. (And it probably also applies to the drunk world of hooking up).

It's a cute minor connection that is often sadly looked over and taken for granted. But in the absence of daylight and company to share the darkness with—it's not sex that most people miss, it's affection.

*Picture pulled from here.

~ z.