The weather is freezing, but it is the desert. A cactus withers away, lush to barren, in a sea of sand. Spine needle through the drought in the air and roughen the skin. The arms reach skyward, a hand of splintered fingers searching for a trace of something lost. It can't survive chills in the weather when it is losing water. The sun, the sky, the clouds are all too far to grasp. There is a thirst for a rainstorm that will never come; an existence of feeling hungry, but unable to eat. This hunger: a craving to fill an ache, a want, a void. Something to null the vacancy that lingers after heartache. Something to catch with both hands. A lone wanderer in the desert longs for a missed connection, a hand to lace fingers through, something just out of reach.