This is how it feels to need a hug, and then to get one.
My self spills out of my body in every direction, like a punctured barrel. A hug plugs up the holes, keeping me intact.
My thoughts swarm around my head, fuzzy and uncatchable. A hug gathers them up, pauses their motion, and sets them down where I can see them.
My arms don’t know where they want to be. Any position I take feels awkward and wrong. A hug slides me back into place, snugly fitting into my own existence.
There are many problems that can’t be solved by a hug. But it has a huge, immediate impact when I’m in a particular state of body and mind – the state that I call “needing a hug.”