When Shadows Touch Flame

We met

on the edge of something unnamed—

where the sky forgot its borders

and your laugh curled like fire

in my hollow chest.

You didn’t speak at first,

but your silence

ran its fingers through time.

I leaned in,

and the world—

softened.

The stars blinked late

that evening,

as if waiting

for permission.

And maybe they saw it too—

how your gaze

cut through the illusion

of everything I once called real.

I wanted to name that feeling.

But how do you spell a pulse

or the warmth behind your eyes

when the dark begins

to stretch its hands?

You turned,

half-moon smile slipping into grief,

as if you’d remembered

something sacred you had to leave.

I didn’t chase.

But I stayed,

anchored in the ache,

where your presence had been

not just a person—

but a place.

Still,

I return there—

to the way your breath

once bent the air

like a soft rebellion against time.

Some loves don’t end.

They echo

like footsteps in deep snow—

impossible,

but unmistakably there.