There are things we carry that were never meant to be explained. Not because they are shameful—but because naming them would diminish their truth.
This is one of those things.
The Flame I Carry
Once, a glance
etched in my mind.
A memory, a hope—
a pain I never knew would come.
A love that grew.
First, together.
Then, apart.
Tears that fell
together, but separate.
A hand so close.
A shoulder so near,
yet worlds away.
Hearts that once beat together.
Flames that burned in unison.
Now, just memories—
of sorrow, of distance,
of coals hoping to spark,
for fuel that no longer shows.
A voice that calls me, not in day.
A caress that touches me
in my mind,
in my dreams,
in my hopes.
Numbed by the path ahead,
of only memories,
of times past,
of a flame that only I carry.
That only I carry.