What Do I Do When My Flame Dies

What Do I Do When My Flame Dies

I sit with the quiet where the fire once lived,

Hands still warm from a light that has gone.

The dark does not rush me or demand answers,

It waits, patient, like it knows my name.

I remember how brightly I once believed,

How hope felt endless and easy to hold.

That glow did not leave without teaching me,

It showed me how much I was willing to give.

When the flame fades, I do not run from myself,

I stay with the ashes and breathe them in slow.

There is truth in what no longer burns,

A softer wisdom learning how to speak.

I gather what remains without judgement,

The sparks I overlooked while chasing heat.

Not everything meaningful arrives as fire,

Some strength is quiet and steady instead.

I let rest become an act of courage,

Not surrender, not failure, just pause.

Even the stars disappear before returning,

The sky never calls them weak for it.

If light returns, it will come honestly,

Not forced, not borrowed, not begging to stay.

I will welcome it with steadier hands,

Knowing I survived the night without it.

And if the flame never looks the same again,

I will learn the language of a gentler glow.

There are many ways to remain alive,

Even after the fire chooses to sleep.