There are longings that never return,
they merely learn how to remain.
They sit at the table with me
and drink from the same silence
we once called love.
A candle’s tears —
made of burning wax —
run down my face
as though the night itself
had learnt how to melt.
I light another flame
to illuminate what we lost,
but the light only reveals
the empty place
where I still wait for you.
There are names that are never forgotten;
they merely grow old upon the tongue.
There are embraces that never end,
because they never found the courage
to say goodbye.
And I remain here,
my heart becoming the wick,
my soul becoming wax,
slowly burning
for a longing
that will never return.
Perhaps that is love’s punishment:
not dying when everything ends,
but continuing to burn
when there is no one left
to save us from the flame.