Your Hand

“I remember holding your hand, smooth with the cold. It was small and bony. It didn't feel like yours anymore. We walked along the beach talking about the past and pretending there was a future. Somewhere along the way, your hand pretending to be someone else's, abandoned it. It didn't matter because I still had you there. We searched until you were too tired. Until I had decided I had wasted enough time looking for something.. something that only matters to me now that I have forgotten what your hand used to feel like.”