My Life In Word

Tending Dead Flames

I kneel beside the ashes
of what we used to be,
cupping cold embers
as though they might remember heat.
I feed them old promises,
dry apologies,
and photographs where our smiles
still knew how to touch.
But love cannot be warmed
by one pair of hands.
Still, I strike another match—
watching it flare, tremble,
and die against the darkness
you left behind.

Simona A. Brinson

Photo by Mustafi Numann on Unsplash

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