The half second you got back

Someone's arms go around you and you just hug back. No half turn of the head. No leaning away a beat too early. That used to take a half second check, every time. Could they tell? On your hands, your breath, your clothes, your eyes? Nobody else saw that checkpoint. You ran it anyway.

The cigarette put a checkpoint between you and everyone you love. Anyone who has to manage themselves before contact ends up choosing a little less contact. After a while, that starts to feel like who you are. Reserved. Not much of a hugger. That was never your personality. It was the checkpoint.

Now the checkpoint's gone. A child can bury a face in your shoulder and nobody's managing a thing. A friend can lean in close to tell you something. God has held you through all of it, and now the people He gave you can too. Most love happens within arm's reach, and you're back inside it.

Today, hug somebody past the polite length. Hold on for three extra seconds and let them notice. Nothing to check first. Nothing to hide after. These arms are free now, and they know exactly where to go.