Even though I proceed to write about this experience which still escapes me, I cannot help but to wonder at it nonetheless. What is in a hand that gives a simple caress? One act that speaks volumes of what is meant by this gesture, but still the words escape me in describing how it pertains to matters of the heart. A matter that runs so deep that even when it is received unjustly in abuse, we still prefer what is unjust over not receiving it at all. From our birth, it is the mother's response to our tearful call, and if not received within these formative years, we then remain silent. It is our first experience of having a concept of a relationship, even though we are not fully aware of it at that stage in life. We long for it during our moments of stress and strife. It can mend and heal us even after having been cut by the sharpest knife. Yes, it is medicine to the soul, and it is no less effective even after we have grown old. I continue to write about this experience which still escapes me, and still I cannot help but to wonder much about how incomplete life would be without the simple sense of touch.