You never really notice how small hands are until you’re holding one inside your own and you feel the indentations of tiny bones prickling against your palm. And you never really notice how big the universe is until you’re holding her hand for the very last time and you’re here in the moment, right next to her, but her mind is somewhere else, exploring the depths of life and its counterpart, and you wonder why your hands don’t work fast enough to pull her back in because it’s the last time, goddammit, and you miss the way her hands did all the talking and her eyes and smile held you just as much as her arms did.

     And then there is nothing you can do anymore because she is too far gone, even though you can hear her breathing softly and her hand is still enclosed in yours, but her thoughts are not on you anymore. She is turning away from you, quicker than you thought someone could, and she disappears, left to be only a memory stamped on your mind, a concept that you loved but couldn’t show.
     You never really notice how lonely you are until you’re missing the touch of her hand within yours at 3 a.m.