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.
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