It's that simple. I've touched a hundred hands - some grasped in vain some accidental, moments when I thought I'd conquered hope. Yet not once that current flowing despite holding in breath and hoping this time out of the many will electrify me.

Like touching you those days and the astounding current surging. A thousand sharp-tongued words poking each time as though beginning journeys over, and over.

Basic chemistry or some otherworldly explanation for you. The One touch I have tried to replicate times out of spite times in defiance.

Never get past the hands. Single brief touch and then I flee. Away from in disgust, disinterest, not like towards, not how I ran for dose after dose of sorcery by One.

Forgive me. Thinking you replaceable when from the first touch I became your main accessory.