I watched her hand stroke along my arm, so gently, so lovingly. Her voice whispered, “I love you, Trelawney. I love you, Trelawney.” The soft, tender caress felt poignant, healing, magical. I wept with gratitude.
It was my own hand stroking me. My own voice. Continue reading ““What If We Touched Ourselves Lovingly Every Day?” by Trelawney Grenfell-Muir”
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