My hands remember her fingers wrapped in mine. I refuse to recall the times we held each other.


I reach in the darkness to hear her voice. My fingers can still trace the pattern of her number.

My hands remember caressing the small of her back, the curve of her hip… I try not to recall the hours spent whispering together.

I can still feel the softness of her cheek next to mine. Am I forced to reflect on the memory of her tears and wonder…

My hands twitch at the resurgence of the past. The recollections resurface, leave their scars, then scatter.

My arms embrace the nothing – then fall.

And I remember.