Touching.

The most essential of the senses.

We touch to see.

We touch to feel.

We touch to know.

We touch to love.

And yet…

What do we touch but mere boundaries?

Limits of things, the touch of which tells us nothing.

That table.

It is more than its outer boundaries.

It is a place to eat. A place to place your diary. A place to study and a place to write your inner thoughts.

That chair.

It is a thing to sit on. To ponder. To think. To not think…

That hand…

Touch it.

Does it tell you anything for the person?

Does touching speak to you of essence?

Petty man.

Always looking into the horizon for answers.

Always looking away for the key to the cosmos.

And yet…

All you had to do was to touch your self.

Without touching anything…