The Fading Fire

The Fading Fire

The fire burns low in the hearth,

its warmth fading into the quiet night,

I sit with my hands close to the flames,

feeling the shadows stretch across my heart.

The walls are lined with books and memories,

every spine a story I have loved and lost,

I reach for them with hesitant fingers,

tracing the lines as if they were you.

Outside, the wind moves through the trees,

its sighs echoing in the empty rooms,

I close my eyes and let it fill me,

a whisper of the world that once held us.

The candle flickers, struggling to survive,

its light dancing on the old wooden floor,

I see your face in every movement,

every shadow a reflection of what I miss.

Time slows as I sit with the silence,

the weight of memory pressing gently,

I breathe it in, letting it settle in my chest,

a strange comfort wrapped in sorrow’s embrace.