bring me 'round

I'd had the glass thing you'd given back to me in my hand for some time. I remember curling my fingers around it so hard that by the time you were out of sight, it was nothing but shards.

When you came back and offered the branch, I opened my hand for the first time in a long time. I didn't need to look down--the fistful of sand was so fine that it felt like silk slipping through my fingers.