Part V · Reclamation
Embers
Embers danced
in the wake of the flame.
Low nights,
thin breaths—
your heartbeat
fading beneath mine.
Through rage,
through ruin,
even the fire
couldn’t burn that page.
We clung to pain
like scripture,
read it back to each other
as proof
we once believed.
But the page turned.
And before the new one could begin,
your pen—
already gone.
Already closed.
Ink blots,
scars.
Every line
a goodbye
we never said aloud.
If we had feared God
more than each other,
maybe we’d have stopped
before the wreckage.
Maybe we’d have saved
something.
But now,
all I can do is sit here,
holding the stillness
where you used to be.
And I don’t rise—
not anymore.
Not for echoes.
Not for ghosts.
Even when I hear you whisper:
“Darling,
darling,
come here.”