skinship
skinship. rambles of a familiar kind. 600 words, approx.
"you know we only ever use 90 percent of our brains?" you say, twitching your knee up and down by flexing your toes up, down, up down. "we have this constant capacity for more. that's why we're never satisfied, why there's always this yearning, you know?"
i think of hunger, need. i think of my hand placed over your knee and the movement skip a beat, slip through my own fingers, hand, arm --. i feel my own fingers twitch with anticipation. they stay where they are, though, lying out across the side of the armchair with each finger bridging at the centre, making little 'c' shapes against the surface.
"that'd make sense, i suppose," rolling my head backwards and resting it on the back of the armchair. i think for a movement i can see something move above me among the ceiling (perhaps the twitch of light from the window cascading the surface through the ripples of shadows), then shut my eyes so the movement is trapped beneath my eyelids, dancing frantically among the black. "i mean, the world would probably be so bleak if we knew everything. there would be nothing romantic left without possibility."
i think of hunger once more, yet quenched this time -- the dissatisfaction in receiving what you've desired for so long, yet not knowing what to do with it, what to desire next. i think of knowing everything. i think of placing my fingers through yours and you squeezing once and thinking these are your distal phalanges pressing with a slight discomfort, yet in a way which is familiar to me, against the edges of my proximal phalanges. these our are fingers slipped between one another's in a ritual of physical intimacy, referred to by the japanese as sukinshippu, meaning physical contact, or 'skinship'. this physical intimacy is proven to reduce depression and stress hormones through the release of the hormones dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin. dopamine, when in the mesolimbic pathway, can be found to increase arousal. dopamine is also the reason behind certain fruits browning, such as the banana, because it is the natural substrate for polyphenol oxidases which assist in the formation of the brown pigments, known as melanins, and hence cause the fruit to adopt the brown colour.
i laugh softly to myself. light is pressed so tightly beneath my eyelids it flashes uncoordinatedly like a fly trapped beneath a glass, zigzagging across the glass as if to fill the space with familiarity in an indulging moment of nervous tendency.
"what's so funny?" you murmur, and when i open an eye just a fraction (the light escapes, disperses again, back into the real world as if i had stolen it when i had shut my eyes away from it and now that they are open, i have filled the room with it once more) i see you mimicking my poise; head rolled back against the top of the armchair, fingers spelling out a little incoherent 'cccc' against your knees. i wonder whether perhaps you mimicked me out of the yearn for similarities. perhaps i looked almost peaceful. perhaps there is a psychological reasoning, the need for copying in a paternal relationship.
really, i don't care at all. i find it oddly charming. i close my eyes again and the light is mine once more and i watch it dance among the dark.
"you know we only ever use 90 percent of our brains?" you say, twitching your knee up and down by flexing your toes up, down, up down. "we have this constant capacity for more. that's why we're never satisfied, why there's always this yearning, you know?"
i think of hunger, need. i think of my hand placed over your knee and the movement skip a beat, slip through my own fingers, hand, arm --. i feel my own fingers twitch with anticipation. they stay where they are, though, lying out across the side of the armchair with each finger bridging at the centre, making little 'c' shapes against the surface.
"that'd make sense, i suppose," rolling my head backwards and resting it on the back of the armchair. i think for a movement i can see something move above me among the ceiling (perhaps the twitch of light from the window cascading the surface through the ripples of shadows), then shut my eyes so the movement is trapped beneath my eyelids, dancing frantically among the black. "i mean, the world would probably be so bleak if we knew everything. there would be nothing romantic left without possibility."
i think of hunger once more, yet quenched this time -- the dissatisfaction in receiving what you've desired for so long, yet not knowing what to do with it, what to desire next. i think of knowing everything. i think of placing my fingers through yours and you squeezing once and thinking these are your distal phalanges pressing with a slight discomfort, yet in a way which is familiar to me, against the edges of my proximal phalanges. these our are fingers slipped between one another's in a ritual of physical intimacy, referred to by the japanese as sukinshippu, meaning physical contact, or 'skinship'. this physical intimacy is proven to reduce depression and stress hormones through the release of the hormones dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin. dopamine, when in the mesolimbic pathway, can be found to increase arousal. dopamine is also the reason behind certain fruits browning, such as the banana, because it is the natural substrate for polyphenol oxidases which assist in the formation of the brown pigments, known as melanins, and hence cause the fruit to adopt the brown colour.
i laugh softly to myself. light is pressed so tightly beneath my eyelids it flashes uncoordinatedly like a fly trapped beneath a glass, zigzagging across the glass as if to fill the space with familiarity in an indulging moment of nervous tendency.
"what's so funny?" you murmur, and when i open an eye just a fraction (the light escapes, disperses again, back into the real world as if i had stolen it when i had shut my eyes away from it and now that they are open, i have filled the room with it once more) i see you mimicking my poise; head rolled back against the top of the armchair, fingers spelling out a little incoherent 'cccc' against your knees. i wonder whether perhaps you mimicked me out of the yearn for similarities. perhaps i looked almost peaceful. perhaps there is a psychological reasoning, the need for copying in a paternal relationship.
really, i don't care at all. i find it oddly charming. i close my eyes again and the light is mine once more and i watch it dance among the dark.