"All the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is."

He hated this. This silence. Eyes averted. Air between two pairs of lips solidified, muffling those tiny squeaks of air from forming. Words choked on unfinished meaning. Frigid fingers futilely resist the joining, the inevitable intertwining.

It always started at the tips of met fingers. The soft pressure almost seemed underhanded, in a way. He was used to throwing up walls against a barrage of sardonic smiles. The taunting burrowing underneath his skin.

But.

At this silent, soft touch, he yielded. This was a voluntary surrender. She stilled the architecture of his dance to pause in a moment, a minute, a lifetime with her.

Peace. Be Still.

Reckless burned doubt. Oh God, came the whisper. I can't. I was looking for salvation. Please. Don't trust me with this.

And when the end came, he knew he was undone. Across a roaring chasm they stood, silently accusing the other for all the mistakes, the failures. The turns, furious and hasty slapped down like desperate moves by gamblers frantic for movement, any movement, ruined and destroyed by hope.

(Memories of) You still haunt me.

title: Aleksandr Hemon