There's a certain comfort in touch. The smoothness of the back of a neck, the smell of sun tan lotion and chlorine mingling with the scent of someone's skin, the warmth of a familiar callused hand on the small of your back in an unfamiliar place, guiding you in a crowd can all make you feel known and cared for.

I am not a touchy feely person. Barring with puppies and small children, most kinds of touch including hugging and even shaking hands leave me somewhere from mildly disgusted to entirely grossed out. This drives my handsy mother crazy, though she says that I've always been like this. As an infant she said she knew I was sick when I wanted to be held.

The only other exception to this rule really is men to whom I am romantically involved with.

It's been a long time since I've felt the simple comfort and protection of an arm around my waist or a larger hand in mine. I'm too smart to seek temporary comfort- I know it creates more problems than solutions in the long run.

Instead, I snuggle my dog closer if she'll let me.

There are different brands of lonely. Tonight I wish I could be held while I drift off to sleep by a man that cares about me.