Clay and Absence

Cool metal yielded as pressure lifted, revealing skin faintly marked with a clinging residue. It wasn't dirt, but clay ground to an almost imperceptible powder, hinting at origins beyond simple handling. Running a finger across the wrist, one could discern subtle differences in each particle—variations like strata pressed together. The warmth had faded, yet something remained under the surface; not erasure, but a patterned resistance felt through the throbbed veins of touch.