I touched her

I went to meet her, and when we found each other we greeted. The world stopped for a moment, and we greeted...not as acquaintances or friendly people or friends of friends, but as friends. There was no Peck on the Chic-o this time, but a moment of real reunion, friends who had not seen each other in a few weeks. But friends who perhaps didn't quite know yet that they might be friends, still pretending hard to be acquaintances or friends of friends or friendly people.

I touched her as we greeted, in a way I didn't mean to. In a way I didn't even notice at the time. But in a way that I cannot shake from my fuzzy little head. Did she notice? Would she have cared? We are certainly not friends enough that I could have laughed it off, so it seems I have to live with the guilt or the doubt or the self-doubt...or the excitement.

In that one moment I realised that we were more friends than I'd dared to believe, and yet less than either of us would admit. Step forward, step back: I don't think we'll be dancing for real any time soon.