ember lover

Looking at her is like a grainy old romance warped in a bathroom mirror— time distorts in her footsteps. She’s always smiling, even when tears circle in her eyes. Only on certain nights will she pull off the mask and fracture in hush, splintering inward. She speaks little— perhaps the quietest soul I’ve known. Her days revolve around his breath, his smile her only pastime. Being loved by her is like being held by fire— the scorching hug will drain oxygen from lungs, but only because going all in is her only form of love. I envy the one she loves, but I am not, no. I am her— the ember of romantics, too charred to be remembered.