Sands of Time

    I scooped a handful of sand letting it run through my fingers in one smooth fine stream of silky dust. It felt so familiar. That touch of soft warmth. That little sand river flowing between my fingers and onto your leg. Skin smooth and golden.

    So peaceful.

    Quiet.

    You smiled. I smiled too. Your smile is always so infectious. Love seeing the wind playing with your hair, separating strands, brushing against your cheek and lips. The sparkle in your eyes.

    I am happy. I flip on my back. Warm breeze touching my bare chest. My fingers walk through the sand finding your thigh, climbing over, my palm resting, sensing the heat radiating off your sun kissed skin. The sky is so clear and endless, as each moment fleeing into forever.

    I open my hand.

    The last bits of memories falling to the ground. Mixed with others.

    Sands.

    Time.

    Our time.

    They say if all bits and pieces are collected and deposited again - their memory will live anew. Each shadow of old ready to be picked up by the wheel and thrown onto a next cycle. New chance, new opportunity. Would I make anything different? Would you ever want that?

    I squint at the sky. So clear and endless. I turn and start walking away. Each step - a heartbeat falling into infinity.

    They say nothing can be brought back - only forward. Always forward. Picked up by the wheel of time. Taken into a new spin. Will just let the wheel work its magic.

    All in time.

    All in its own time.