Gone.

Delicate, like a spider's web.
I continue holding onto the few strands left.
I am desperate. I continue clinging to whatever I can grasp, but I feel it fleeting away, disintegrating into the wind.
Soon, there will be nothing but a ghost of your hand holding mine.
Soon, there will be nothing but memories of us stored in my mind.
And all of this, all of what we have, is gone.