There were traces remaining,
like footsteps on wet sand.
They could be wiped off
by his slightest touch,
a slightly stronger wind,
but he chose not to,
and no such wind blew.
Those traces,
they remained,
exposed,
sullied,
as if they awaited her;
her homecoming.
But she,
she was nowhere near,
unseen,
unheard of,
like the tiniest pieces
of broken glass
dissolved in the dusty air...
Eons, then, passed,
the wet sand coagulated,
telling stories
they once bore,
as traces
waiting to be effaced...
