You were like a handful of sand resting in the palm of my hand, dancing with the breezes but never flying away. You rested there peacefully with room to grow. I was the same sand only in your palm, always gentle and spacious. Until a gust of wind, stronger than any we’ve ever felt before blew in our direction. The sand in your palm could hold on no longer and most was lost leaving only a few grains in the wrinkles of your hand. The sand in mine, so light and beautiful, it could not hold up against the dark reality of the atmosphere around us. I closed my hand so tightly trying to keep every grain, every dust particle of sand left in my hand, and never opened it again in fear of a second gusty day. You looked down at your palm, saddened by your loss but recognizing the hopelessness of keeping what remained. There was no way to retrieve what had blown away, and there was so little left, it felt nearly impossible for you to nurture what you still had. I watched as you turned your hand over, unsteady, and uncertain, as the final sand grains fell to the ground. You watched as I flew away, my pieces of sand landing amongst different crevices on the ground. You walked away,wiping your hands on your pants to get rid of the dust on your hands. You never looked back. My hand still close-fisted. I do everything with one hand, hindering in my life so as not to lose what is left of you. My body is exhausted, you are heavier than I remember, more dense. But I push on, I deny any other gusts of wind, I pretend the world has no idea that I am still carrying you even though they know you have left me. I spend days, weeks, months, even years in denial. You must have a piece of me somewhere. There is no way that you turned your hand over, washed your hands clean of me forever. And then I open my hand. My heart becomes as heavy as what is left of you is in my palm. What is left is less than I remember, you are practically gone. I can’t even find a trace of you in the dust left in between my fingers. You saw my hand closing tight so long ago, and flew away then. The sand left in my hand, the hinderance for the last two years has not been you at all. It has been only a memory of the light, flexible sand I had with you once before. It is my turn to flip my hand over and let everything I was holding onto be taken by the wind. It is my turn to wash the dust off my hands and begin to use all ten of my fingers for my own good. Giving you the freedom from my palm is giving myself the freedom I need. Fly where you want now, I no longer take possession. Your sand belongs to you now and mine to me. We are two separate entities, our lives no longer intertwined.