The Quiet Fire

I was young.

When I learned

that care can turn away

without uttering a word.

A room doesn't have to be devoid of things.

to feel cold.

Sometimes silence sits beside you.

and wears the name of love.

I have held things that could not hold me.

Comfort taught myself

from stillness.

Cold felt honest.

Warmth was always asking for too much.

I read about love-

patient, careful,

slow enough to last.

It tore my heart.

for something I had never even touched.

They said true love

chooses depth over desire.

It means beauty does not come first but substance.

I tried to believe that.

I really did.

But then my breath changed

he paused,

where words remained trapped

behind his lips.

Hope is a fragile thing-

It breaks softly. I said to my inner self I would stop writing. stop naming the pain. But pain remembers language. The fire is gone now, but keeps its shape. Some things burn even after the light is taken away