My Perennial Disappointment

Every now and then, I’d meet a stranger, in the cafeteria or standing beside me in the train, and I’d want him to believe every strange thing I say. I remember, back in school, my brother holding my hand and helping me walk up the staircase with my tiny feet. I remember my father lifting me off the ground and holding me till his arms ached. I remember my mother wiping off my tears with her fingers and healing my wounds with a kiss on my forehead. I remember the doctor examining me with a cold stethoscope. I remember her hand through my hair and her whispering in my ears while we sat under a tree, watching the stars. I remember being tickled by my friends till I cried. I remember washing myself clean of the wrongs. Years of being touched by hands, voices, sights and the sun, and still having a million touchpoints undiscovered! There's so much more to feel, so much more to touch, but still the need to be accepted will always be my perennial disappointment.