Water.

They say you can’t really hold on to sand. But actually you can.
It is water you can’t hold on to. You think you’ll see a few drops of it when you open your hands, but you find nothing – nothing except a thin film of it.
You are now left with nothing but a drenched palm.

I couldn’t hold on to you – I thought I could but when I checked back I realized I was wrong. You were gone. And I was left awash with memories. Memories of the time spent together. Memories of us.
An us that had suddenly ceased to exist; had evaporated.

When I think of you, I feel a warm current surge through me, consuming me. And then a strong cold wave hits me, forcing me to close me eyes.

I shun you out of my head. But a part of me is also trying to reach out to you, hoping you can pull me out of the murky waters that flood my mind.

I am calm on the outside but moody on the inside… just like an ocean. Standing on the shore, you think everything is fine but you’ll never know what goes on under the surface unless you make an attempt to find out about it.
And when you do take the plunge, you taste the water – you taste the turmoil. And you get a brief glimpse into the complete mayhem that my life has been reduced to.
But you also get the salt before you decide you don’t want any of it… Well, I taste it too – I taste it in the salty drop of water that wells up my eye.
But unlike you, I feel it burn.