I try to grasp.
I try again.
I try once more.
Jumping and panting I soon scream out of frustration.
"Damn it, don't leave me!" I cry.
You placed your hand on my cheek.
"I have to, Lucas..." you lightly smiled, "I have no choice."
Your voice sounded like air, your hand soon transparent, me unable to feel your warmth any longer.
I began to cry.
Your tried to wipe away the tears, but they slipped through your fingers.
"There's still so much we need to do," I sobbed, "so much you needed to see..."
You blend in with the light, "I know, honey."
You're harder to see, "But you can do them."
I can't see you, "And always remember..."
You echo through my ears, "I love you."
And as you die, the light fades, and I'm back in the darkness of the night, my the rain coming down gently upon my head, my gaze on your headstone.
Wishing to everything's wrong I randomly grasp at the air, desperate for your hands.
I never feel them.
Missing a loved one and grasping for them is like grasping for smoke:
You see them, you know they're there...
but you'll never get them.