She wonders, as she holds him, pressing her hands into his bare back, if she’s leaving permanent marks. If she makes such an impression on his life, his mind, his heart, that he experiences sharp shards of longing when she’s not there. She muses also about the fingerprints she’s left behind: whether or not they are ever truly erased from the handle of the coffee mug; completely dusted off a tabletop; cleanly wiped away from the fridge door or the kitchen counter. He kisses her lips, then her forehead before he leaves her behind in the tangled nest of sheets. When he’s disappeared from sight, she idly envisions the ghosts of her fingerprints following him from the kitchen to the living room back to the bedroom at the end of a long day without her…gentle reminders that perhaps she was here.
Fingerprints – Fragment #26