Flowers, Take My Hand.

I only wanted to touch what I could not reach. The sky, the flowers, the warmth of a hand that would not slip away. I thought if I reached far enough, I could hold them close, press them to my heart, and never let go. But every time my fingers stretched toward them, they dissolved like smoke, and all that remained was the hollow sound of my own heartbeat echoing in the dark.

I tell myself it is fine, that I should be content with what is here, but my heart will not listen. It keeps fluttering, restless, chasing after things that were never meant for me. If even the softest dreams can wither in my hands, then what will become of mine? Will they fade like petals scattered on the wind, or will they cut me as they fall apart?

Tell me... if you were me, would you still reach out your hand?