And when I reach out to touch you
You always slip from my grasp

Like a feather through the air
Sunlight spilling between my fingertips

I hear your whisper through the hallway
Then turn to find myself alone

I feel your heartbeat against my palm
Then open my eyes to find it empty

I see your silhouette in the streetlights
Then approach to find not even a ghost

You traced your fingers through this town
Like it were made of clay

Like it might have been a masterpiece
If you had just held on long enough

Now all I have left are sketches and outlines
And half-lives of what used to be

And I will never touch you again