Yearning

I sifted through the photographs in my hand, lingering on a smile here, on a look there, tracing the outline of your face and sighing in wistful surrender at our clasped hands. Memories, thousands, assaulted my mind. Our togetherness was a palpable reality to my senses and yet I couldn't reach out and touch it. A beautiful dream, like a cloud of barely there smoke, evaporating before I could fully acknowledge its presence.

I miss you.

I reach for the phone, almost desperately yearning to hear your voice. But my fingers shake uncontrollably, my sub-concious afraid of your rejection. Valid tough it is, I know it will break me. If I see a look of contempt on your beautiful face, or hear a word laced with resentment from your gorgeous lips, I fear, it will be the end of me.

Instead I let my thoughts drift to you, imagining you now. You look much the same as my memories, only more beautiful, only more ethereal, only more unreachable. As a single, clear drop of tear escapes my eye and rolls down the left side of my face, I bow my head to examine my hand.

My lonely hand, no longer joined with yours. So bitter this moment, so melancholy, so very very alone

And I lay my hand open, forever waiting for yours to entwine with it.

Again.