I will love you, again tomorrow
And not think, about the sorrow,
That life has, brought to you.
We will do what we need to do.

Must I be the way I am?
Can I change my being?
Must I walk this road alone?
Going through life, not seeing?

The fire has died now,
burning all the logs
into embers.
Crackling of wood,
cooling,
echoes through the room,
while noises of the
dishwasher, cycling,
increasing intensity,
drowning out my memories.

A single, lonely Moth
flits to the flickering flame
Gone