AIMEE TACON

What does love feel like?

It’s a feeling, a real, physical feeling.
I feel at home in their arms. When they touch me, I feel alive. I come alive.

It’s about being in relationship – connecting.
Knowing that I am here, and you are here with me, and we are here in this moment together.

Love is active.

Love is a verb.

Love is reaching, pouring yourself out for someone else and knowing that they will catch you.

Hold you.
Want you.
Touch you.

Touch you gently. Warmly. Holy and reverent.
Our body as an extension of self and our self outstretched, pleading to be seen and heard and felt.

Felt, with a hand covering a hand.
Felt, with a touch on the back.
Felt, with a hug from behind.
Felt, with a kiss on the shoulder.

When I was seventeen and I though the whole world would crash and burn around me, and panic pounded through my blood, louder than the thoughts in my head – my father came into my room.
He must have heard me.
And he didn’t say anything, not a word, but he held me until everything was quiet.
Quiet, except:
His heartbeat.
The light scratch of his skin against mine.
It set me off again, and I never told him why, but I couldn’t bear the thought that this feeling, this embrace, this love – might not be around forever.

That his heartbeat was a countdown.

But is it a countdown or a drum?
The heart, a physical thing, a symbol.

Funny, how it’s impossible to separate our body and this thing called love.