herz schmerz

there was once a man who was never a boy.
he always wore a clip on tie and asked for coffee in his bottles.
his name was sam.
sam grew up as normal children do, with all his book reports and good night stories and fears of monsters in basement crannies.
but sam was never squeezed. ever so tightly, ever so warmly. he was never rocked, his hair was never smoothed and combed through by a mother's fingers.
and slowly sam begin to forget that touch was such a sense.
to him there were only four.
sometimes sam would lay in bed at night illuminated by his white nightlight and play shadowpuppets on the wall. he would take both of his hands and squeeze them tightly together until his face was red and his fingers tired from hugging so desperately around each other. but it wasn't the same.
and sam grew up as most men do. but he never fell in love.
and one day, something inside him dropped. with a thump and a purple feeling.
sam would diagnose this bruise.
and sam became samuel, phd. the doctor specializing in herz schmerz.