Maybe time could transform the remaining strands of affection into cobwebs, if not entirely sweep them away.

Your laugh was the same. Your embrace was still warm. You still moved with the slight air of being lost.
But then I noticed your hands.
They were masked with a foreign ruggedness, sprinkled with dark follicles. Those very hands that had become so familiar with my body had become so unfamiliar to my eyes.

The hand of Time had send me colliding into the face of Reality.