I was the “love” of his life,
a moon in the dark sky,
a borrowed light, a fleeting glow,
a flame he snuffed and left to die.
It was the loss of my life,
a storm that swallowed the sun,
a heart that once beat confidently,
now undone, undone, undone.
I lost the ability to love,
to trust the hands that reached for me,
to hope for mornings without shadows,
to dream of a life that could be.
I lost the courage to show up,
to stand bare, to be seen,
to offer my heart, vulnerable,
to believe in the in-between.
Now we’re just ashes of us,
a memory of what once burned,
a love that turned to embers,
an ache that slowly churned.
I went through the fire,
its heat a searing blade,
carving away the pieces
of the life we made.
But from the ashes, I rose,
alone, but not in vain,
a phoenix forged in silence,
through the sorrow, through the pain.
The end to the Waterfall,
its rush, turned into a fading steam,
the end to the Evergreen,
its roots, disconnected from the timeless dream.
Yet here I stand, still breathing,
though the world feels cold and gray,
for even in the ashes,
nothing new has found its way.
