Scraps of dreams
and torn hours.
Pieces of paper
in the air.
I woke
to the sound of you
tearing pages.
Promises and prayers.
Love letters,
bits of poetry,
and plans,
fed into the flames
by your hand.
No tears.
No sighs.
Only a certain
determination
on your face,
as you went page to page.
In the short moments
that I watched you,
you had fed
years
to the fire.
Childhood stories,
diary memories,
newspaper cuttings,
wedding vows.
They all burned brightly
as they floated in the air,
then hit the ground.
Wet ash.
Black.
A stain upon your foot.
A past,
now marked in the dark
with soot.
For a moment,
I thought to ask you
if you were trapped
by memories?
A recurring nightmare
you didn’t wish to see.
Then, I realized
that with each page
you fed
into the flames
your eyes got lighter.
You were setting
yourself free.
DJR – 2023
