Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Hearts and Humor – A Michael Smith Column

November 28, 2006

                                                I Don’t Want to Let Go

Michael T. Smith

            The alarm clock rings again. For the fourth time, I roll and slap the snooze button.

My eyes open and see its 6:00 AM. I need to go to work. My body stiffens with

disappointment. I have to get up. In my mind I think, “No! I don’t want to leave her. I

don’t want to let go!”

            The sun rises; the sky grows brighter; the birds begin to sing; and we’re slowly

roused from sleep. I have a leg thrown over Ginny’s. She has an arm draped over me. The

morning sun warms the room. We get hot and roll away, but always, we keep our hands

or feet in contact.

            Without body contact, we get cold again. We roll to each other once more. I’m

against her back - one arm under and one arm over. My leg stretches out and over hers.

The warmth once again comforts us.

            Our body heat becomes too much. I roll to the other side. In a few minutes she

rolls and snuggles my back. Her hand rests on my shoulder. I instinctively reach up and

hold it.

            The alarm rings again. My free hand slaps the snooze button. I roll back to her -

holding her. I smell her hair and feel her skin against mine. I don’t want to let go.

            It’s always the same: we sleep and touch. I feel empty unless I am touching her. I

have work to face, but I don’t want to let go. I want to hold her forever. I hit the snooze

button again and roll back to her, as if I am drawing strength from her to get me through

the day, until I can be home and in her arms again.

            We begin each day draped over each other. I feel her love and she feels mine.

I don’t want to let go.

            I never want to let go.

 Please send your comments to mtsmith@qwestonline.com. I love

your words of encouragement and promise to reply to all of them.