As he walks past, my fingertips trace the skin under his forearm. Soft. Like a flower petal. Surprising on a boy so tall, muscular. The veins on his arm grace my fingers for moments that stretch into weeks. I leave my hand there, too long. He looks at me, surprise in his eyes. I look away, "Sorry, I stumbled." The spell broken, forgotten, gone.

A Song

She sings to the lost. Her voice is high and sweet. It is the rainbow mist from a waterfall, dancing in mid-afternoon sun. The melody is like a reflection in a silvery dew drop, hanging from a blade of green grass. I would do anything to bring her joy, keep the sorrow from her smile.