Die Writing

The slow goodbye

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on May 26, 2012

She was slipping away. His hand on traced out the parts of her it would never touch again. The fingers slipped over the slightly moist skin, feeling the bumps of her spine, the shape of the shoulder blade, and the tiny birthmark. They reached the fold of the fabric at the edge her dress. He felt every thread, every stitch, the clasp of her bra under the gossamer silk.

She was moving away so slowly, that for brief moments he could convince himself that she wasn’t moving away at all, that she would stay right here forever, not quite his, but not quite gone, either.

He was hoping to linger somewhere along her arm – perhaps catch her shoulder or her elbow – but finding a pause proved impossible. He dreaded the inevitable moment when he would reach her finger tips, dreaded it so much he almost missed it. The moment cut him like a surgeon’s knife.

She was already growing dark, swallowed by the tide of time. He couldn’t breathe.

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