Sand

Darling, that’s what she use to call me. With that blonde hair and open eyes she’d tilt her head and smile “ hello darling”, how could I be so stupid to throw that away? Those long nights by river, the danger of being caught, and all we did is hold hands and talk. About life, how the stars seem to emit the right amount of light, how night was nothing a blanket to share between us. I miss her.

Her eyelashes, that’s what I’ll miss the most. How they casted shadows over her face, you could never tell her emotions. She was like sand, a constant stream. So easily moved so easily leaving going, but she stayed for me. Her imperfect nails, with the bits of skin covering the bottoms. She liked them short so they won’t be a nuisance. And that hair, I crave every strand. The smell, the touch, that curtain over our secret dream.

Those tears, and the crying and screaming and her constant pleas “why why why?” and I stood there stunned because at that moment she was so heartbreakingly beautiful. I didn’t mean to reach for her, I didn’t mean to whisper her name, to that step towards her, arms open wide as if she’s crumple into them. If I knew it would keep her with me longer I would of told her why, why why why. I would have told her how could I not? I wouldn’t of said sorry because I wasn’t, never sorry. How could something that completed, danced around my mind and squeezed my heart till pulsing blood rush between the knuckles, why apologise for finding her.

But those aching mornings. When I look across the room and know she’s not mine. To think, to remember, to be tormented by those withering nights where not even the moon shed me light. When she walks pass me, and her eyes glasses over, and I tilt my head in mourning, in acknowledgment that I am only a grain of sand.