The Last Flame

It burns slower now.

I have carried this for years

like a secret I could not name before.

What once roared bright enough

to blind whole seasons

has faded into a soft, shaky light,

a dim orange hint

slowly learning to let go.

I sit before it,

palms open,

feeling the warmth that once seemed

like destiny.

Everything is a memory now,

a promise made too soon,

a hope I left behind,

a tenderness that turned

into pain.

The flame leans inward,

curling inward

as if preparing

for a last breath.

In that fading light

I see everything clearly now.

what it cost to stay,

what I saved by leaving,

what endings can teach us

when they fade gently

instead of burning out loudly.

When the flame lets out

its last thin line of gold,

the darkness does not scare me.

It feels honest.

It feels right.

I rise and brush the dust from my hands

and walk away

with the quiet understanding that every fire must end.

not to leave us behind,

but to bring us back

to the place where new sparks are waiting.

Where new beginnings glow softly

within the ashes

we were brave enough to let go.