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She looked at me and said, “Will you touch my face?” And for some reason, I did.  I reached up and put my hand on her cheek and she started to cry.  Her manic energy stopped and she was still and calm and it sent a shock through me that I can’t really explain.  Right there, on the corner with people walking all around, I sat there for a few brief moments with my hand on her cheek.  Her rough hand, over my soft, manicured hand.  I could sense it was as if she had not been touched by a loving, soft hand in ages, if ever, and so I held it there, trying to comfort her with my heart open. It was powerful.

After a few moments, my embarrassment of what others might be thinking kicked in, and I took my hand away.  I said, “Take care of yourself, okay.  You will be okay.  Just take care of yourself. Be careful.”  She thanked me, and she walked away quietly.  She wasn’t yelling or begging anymore, and I walked away with an open heart, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
I don’t know if it mattered, or if she was just crazy, or if I am crazy, or what.  I wasn’t even going to tell anyone about this because I felt embarrassed and strange after this bizarrely intimate experience, but my roommate found this website and insisted I tell my little story.  I don’t know why I did what I did, and I don’t really know what happened on that street corner, but it changed something in me and has made me want to be a kinder person to the people I meet during my day.

(posted by anonymous)

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