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Excerpt
Touch.
It was essential. From the moment you are born you were touched. Two hands cradling you, bringing you into the world, making the passage easy, the journey benign. Touch became a comfort, a necessity and a joy, and no man had touched Mya like Vincent had.
Like a magnet Mya had been drawn to him. For two years through thick and think she had stayed by his side; supporting him when he couldn't keep a job, loving him when he suffered bouts of uselessness and depression; believing she could help him, fix him. Save him.
But Vincent didn't want to be saved, didn't want to be helped and certainly not fixed. In the end he left her when he had had his fill of her attempts. Simply told her "It's over" without reason or explanation, walking out of her life refusing to explain a thing.
She was smart enough to know that a man did not define her, yet her heart still searched for a reconnection, a yin to her yang. Mya didn't feel desolate about the situation and desperation had yet to claim her. Still there were moments when she longed for the feel of him, for the warmth of his hands upon her. Moments coming when she dreamed of the next man who would enter her world and reawaken her with a touch.
Copyright © 2000 Margaret Johnson-Hodge. All rights reserved.