She never knew she craved for someone to touch her until someone put his hand on her waist to assist her and then gently squeeze it.
She did not know she craved for a touch until she realized she did not consider it as an act of offense but a love language.
They were given a piece of paper to write something that starts with “I wish…” and before she went to sleep, she thought that perhaps she could write one for him and include it to her collection of unsent letters.
And then she’d write…
“I wish my person, if he will ever come, will do such an act to me because then it would feel valid.
I wish you know how you made me feel uncomfortable because you made me realize how much I crave for a touch I have never felt.
Now, I’m confusing harassment to love language.”
