It was such a simple thing, merely a touch of the hand. Others had touched her also, but their touch had always seemed so mechanical, so cold, not even fully human. Theirs was a touch of necessity, but this one was different. This was a touch of love, of caring, of humanity. This was a touch that spoke without words, that said, "I know you are a person with a rich history, and not a faceless case or number." This touch allowed her, if only for a moment, to transcend time.
The memories were a hodgepodge of feelings, sights, sounds, and smells, in random order, the way thoughts sometimes run from one to another, connected in peculiar ways. She really couldn't be sure which wisps and glimpses were accurate and which had become enriched with time, but she supposed that didn't matter now.
He had a way of touching her