Touch

He would always sit next to somebody on the bus,
didn't matter if whole rows were empty,
the bus seats were small,
small enough that no matter what,
he could sit close enough to touch.

Psychology had taught him that the human animal needed physical touch,
this was the only place he could get it.

In the summertime they ran the A/C,
and he could feel the body heat as it passed through their fabrics,
it felt like love to him,
like belonging.

He never leaned in,
he had no ill intent,
he always just sighed a little when they got up to leave.

He thought maybe he should thank them,
but he didn't think they would understand,
so he'd smile and try to meet their eye and nod and then look bashful to the floor.

Thank you,
thank you for being a mother's hug,
for being a small child asleep in his arms,
thank you for being a warm kiss,
a held hand,
thank you for being a slapped back,
a firm handshake,
a slight touch,

Thank you for being love.