Free Hugs

That sign. 

There was a time, not even that long ago, as recently as January, when I would pass a total and complete stranger holding that sign and I'd gladly drop everything that I had and outstretch my arms and sink in for a long embrace.  I'd touch my heart to theirs and feel it pound away.  I'd not worry who they were or where they'd been or what might be lurking on their clothes.  I'd breathe deeply and take in their scent, their essence, wallow in all of their everything.

I'd hug them fiercely.  Love the stuffing out of them.  With abandon.  Because that is who I am and that is what they offered.  

For free.

And now?

That sign feels like a death threat.  

Not intentional.  Cloaked in hippie innocence.  From a time when all we wanted for the world was to please put down our angry masks and our guns and our selfish intentional walks and instead to share just a scant few moments of togetherness.  A genuine, full, warm embrace.  A simple act of love and kindness.  

I don my mask, I stand six feet away, I don't want to kill you. Not then, not now, not ever.  

But I really do miss hugging you.

Fiercely.