It's A Metaphor

Skimming pebbles never gets old.
You rarely tire of watching stones
Skip across a still body of water.

Any stone will skim,
But everyone has their type.
Most of them, you lose to the water
Not worth going back for.

But now and then you pick one up
Hold it in your hand
And never want to let it go.

You skim it, it flies across the water,
You run in, chase it down,
Search through the water,
Clutch it in your cold hand,
Put it in your pocket,
Feel it there,
Next to you.

You skim it again, and again,
Each skim better than the last,
Always making sure you keep it.
Your stone.

You run, you tell your friends,
'Its perfect,' you say,
'Never another like it.'
You reach into your pocket,
Keen to gloat,
Eager to boast,
Your hand clutches..

Nothing.
You search.
Maybe your other pocket,
No.

Its gone.

Gutted.