Les Miserables, but when I see you in the street I’m not allowed to pop earbuds into your head holes and blast “Do You Hear The People Sing.” It’s wonderful to be a person who expresses love through touch.
But exclaiming “I’m a hugger!” and then not waiting for a response just feels antiquated when we know that different people experience affection differently.
Touching other people is a preference. It can’t be your identity. I don’t mean to suggest that that it’s sinister—in my experience, the “I’m a hugger” cohort is made up of the sweetest, most genuine people.
I imagine they feel about hugs the way I feel when I pet dogs—I can actually feel my heart rate slowing down and my lungs taking in more air.
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