And when my eyes opened, the migration had ended, and I thought it was just us left on that hillside looking up at passing clouds. As I tried once more to close my hand around yours, I instead found that I was gripping a ghost of what I remembered. The impressions still there, but your laugh already fading into the wind.
I liked to believe that leaving me behind was never your intention, that the migration took you because your soul was so gentle and light. That it couldn't have been helped, how easily the winds would carry you, and I found myself feeling the weight of gravity more stilling than ever before.
I wondered what it was like, your dream destination.
