Teardrop Oasis

He held her tear in his open palm, an oasis of sadness amidst the tanned sands of his skin.
“That is my gift to you,” said she of the lustrous, raven hair.
“It shall dry before you reach the horizon. That is not a gift, it is a torment.”
“Such is love in the desert.”
“Love need not be fleeting. Stay. Stay with me.”
“I cannot. The sands of destiny run dry, my darling. I would leave before they slip away.”
She took him in with hazel eyes and kicked her heels into the camel’s haunches.
He watched her slow departure as the sands took flight on a scirocco breeze. The dusts of their two weeks together left without another word, for there were no words to say. By the time the wind dropped, and the sun made diamonds of the ground he sank into, she was gone. The tear in his palm had dried to a glistening memory, all that remained, a saline patch of what was.
Such was love in the desert where time is measured in hourglass moments. Such was that teardrop oasis called love.

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