an echoing of memories not made;
commonalities never to be discovered;
paths that will no longer be crossed.
it is a slow death -
the final breath of a candle's flame:
shimmering in a moment from light to dark,
till nothing remains but ash and smoke.
the lingering is the worst.
an empty pain of the might-have-been;
hands pressed against glass
looking within - ever without.
ties that bind are severed byragged edges of promises not kept.
in the end, only
vestiges of brilliance within the darkening shadows