Writings from the vault: Wisps

I reach out, looking for something
Stretching my fingers outward
Eyes open, but unable to see
It tickles my fingertips
Wispy, light, almost imperceptible
Just beyond my reach
Flitting away, fleeting away
My arms grow tired from the strain
I lower them, a short reprieve
One day, perhaps, I will feel it
Tickling the palm of my hand