Bloody scabs. Blisters. That is all that made up his torn hands. His dry, parched skin begged for water; yearned for salvation. The scars from his burns radiated pain.

Although the physical pain is long gone, the memories still burn. It still feels real — sometimes. Sometimes, when the visions got to intense, the burning returned to his hands. The burning as he reached his hands into the blazing fire.

He never found what he was reaching for.

His hands ached from the scars, scabs, and blisters. They throbbed with painful emotion. A desperate cry for what he could never find. They begged to hold her again. To feel her hands grasp his. Although he knew those hands would never grasp hers again at the moment, he knew the time would come.

Some day. Yet today, and probably for the rest of his life, his hands burned.