I used to know every soft crack in her hand
and how I loved coating each one
with the skin from mine.
I would rest on her warmth
and think about how I never wanted to leave that vacation.

As the suns turned to moons, summer turned to winter
and winter couldn’t look back.

It dried her skin and calloused mine.
I would reach for her hand but
it gripped like a stranger with a hidden agenda.

Winter eventually turned back to summer but
summer was someone else.

I’m with a new hand now
who’s soft cracks attempt to fill my gaps. But
instead of giving her my skin,
I leave sand in between us
from last year’s vacation I never wanted to leave.