So she leaves. We ebb apart from each other. I stay and I watch the sand. The breeze still moves it from hill to hill. The sun still sets and it still rises. Only her touch is missing from my days.
I am haunted by her question. Is this all there is?
She sends letters, little pieces of herself for me to follow. Crumbs I’m supposed to eat up. I wake up every day and watch the sand and then one day I wake up and know with such certainty that I will never follow her.