The incomplete meeting

I take in his thin form as it emerges in front of me. I have been dying to meet him since a few weeks and the sight of his face makes me smile. I step down to have a clearer vision. All the bitterness in my heart mixes with the pure pleasure of meeting him and I feel suffocated as I move towards him. His smile is a tired one, his manner lazy. It is not usual and he looks unhealthy. I wish to embrace him, take him out of his worries and ruffle his hair. But I have never crossed the boundaries of physical intimacy with him. He has always been at a distance, too huge for us to cross. It has always remained between us, a strange barrier that should never be touched or toed. He was more casual about it. A bit too casual actually. It was perhaps just me who had this weird discomfort. He talks about insignificant things he knew would draw out a reaction from me. I resist reacting to him, turning to his friend. He stretches out his long arm to touch my cheek in a playful way, his way of hitting me. He is too soft with me to actually hit me. It catches me off guard and he quickly retreats to avoid my hand. His touch feels cool on my warm skin and it lingers on for a longer time than I can tolerate. I walk away from him, unable to fight myself. I want to break away the walls of ice between us. I know I have just added another layer to them as I hear the concealed hurt in his voice, calling me back in a cryptic dialogue. I ignore and walk on, feeling the piercing pain through my heart.