I feel as though my fingers are fragile - delicate webs of bone and skin, barely able to hold the weight of the world. They tremble at the slightest touch, whispering secrets of vulnerability. Life is slowly slipping through them, slipping through the gaps between my outstretched palms like grains of sand. Each passing moment feels like a cruel reminder of the ephemeral nature of existence.

My fingers, once strong and sure, now carry the weight of uncertainty. They ache with the weight of missed opportunities and unspoken words. The dreams they once held in their grasp have now faded into the distance, their outlines blurred by the passage of time. I try to tighten my grip on them, to keep them from slipping away completely, but they slip through like water, leaving only a faint echo of what once was.

Life, like a river, seems to flow through my fingers with...