It hurts, the hollow throb of losing—losing someone always does. But it was different this time. “It’s not fair!” She wanted to scream a blood soaked cry into the world, one begging for lost time back and just one more chance. Perhaps it wasn’t fair. But she never took the chance to make it fair. She didn’t take the chances that lay close, the chances as close as the shadows that grazed fingertips—the chances that slipped further and further away as time moved on and her eyes moved forward. The chances to make it feel as if there was more time with him, more moments spent together. She could have reached out more, inquired more—“What were you like when you were a kid?”, “What were your favorite experiences in life so far?”—because now she’ll never know. The moments drifted like ash in the wind, as if time itself was the flame. So who’s to blame? Maybe it was the world. But maybe she, too, was the reason she felt like this, the reason for the emptiness inside her. Maybe she was the reason she felt that despite knowing him, she never knew him, got a glimpse of who he was beyond his soft spoken exterior. Perhaps the feeling lay in the choices she didn’t make, the chances she didn’t take. A silent burden passed, shared by all who let time slip away from oily fingertips. And so she sobbed and sobbed. But the sobbing could only do so much—broken tears could not resurrect he whom she let slip away. A delicate accented voice broke through her chaotic mind—I’m ok, you’re ok, I love you, for everything and anything you are—and all you’ll be.