Reaching for your fingertips is a little like trying to keep sand in the palm of one of your hands. The grains spill out between my fingers. Yours brush lightly against mine, but for some reason keep falling out of reach.

Is there something wrong with my hands? I take a good look, turning them over, running my eyes along the lines that make up the relief of my palms. Skin golden from long days spent in the sun. Two week old nail polish chipping away, revealing nails grown out a little too long. A sigh escapes my slightly parted lips.

I look up and you're gone again. You never stay too long. I think I can smell you on my pillow case. Hugging it tight against my chest, I bury my nose in my pillow and inhale deeply. Your scent is faint...or maybe my mind is playing tricks on me again.

I thought I saw you the other day, riding my bike past the café where we first met, but I knew it couldn't have been you because there was some other girl hanging on that man's arm. I tried calling you but you didn't answer. I didn't see you again until the next week, and that's when you told me you'd be leaving. Head tilted, I asked where you'd be going. You gave me a sad smile and the only word that came out was "away." The word echoed in my mind as I stood to reach for your hand, but your fingers slipped out of mine as you walked away, like grains of sand, and you never looked back.

Labels: fiction junction