Flaw Salad

I held someone’s hand tonight. I felt the limpness of his fingers between mine, and I longed for you. The last time I sat in a theater, counting unbearable moments until the credits rolled, I had you beside me, and my fingers wrapped around yours. Your gentle strokes, so unlike his, exhilarated in their tenderness. His thumb could never be your thumb. His arm could never draw my touch. You were the beautiful best, and he could scarce shine through the shadow of you. I sat beside this stranger, and as I granted him my unfeeling vestige of a palm, I felt you missing from me. You are a part, and I want you back.