There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
-Friedrich Nietzsche
I watch her chew her fingers, the raw outlines dart in and out of her mouth viciously molested by her teeth. The nurse pulls her arm down, her hand twitches on the arm rest of her chair inches from mine, needing my touch. I can feel my breathing becoming shallow, I have to touch her just once, express my love for her openly in front of the group.
My heart is pounding and I can’t stop my body from contorting in my chair as I contemplate the brazen act of affection.
Doctor Ghrame's eyes narrow, “David, are you all right?”
“Yes…, N...”
I reach out in that brief space my face painted with fear, with love, and brush her hand. The touch carries me over the edge of ecstasy as I wet my pants and shiver to the floor.
I feel hands on me pulling me up and away from her.
”No!”
Tears spill down my face, is she mine?
“I believe that love makes life easier, even just wanting it,” I confess.
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