A tickle, an itch, and a scratch walk into a bar while I was in the corner drinking a thermos full of epidermis, and I thought, this must be what love feels like.

I feel a strange sensation brewing inside of me. It tickles my throat and forces my lips into a grin. Before I can stifle it, I giggle. And then I laugh.

We danced forever, and not nearly long enough. Now that I faced him, I could touch him, too, rather than self-consciously drip through his fingers. I explored his back, fingertips discovering ridges of his spine,...

And one cried wee, wee, wee, all the way—” Jessica breaking down in a giggle as he reaches for the spot along her sweatered flank he knows she can’t bear to be tickled in. She...

I am grateful for hands to tickle with. Not so grateful for that process in reverse, however.

Love tickles parts of you that, prior to its influence, you didn’t even know could feel.