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There was once a light.

I do not recall where,

Or why it mattered.

Heat lingers as a concept,

A texture without presence,

A shadow left by something

That no longer burns.

Ash coats everything—

There is no destruction,

Only the absence of purpose.

The stars blink slower now.

Their cold shimmer feels performative.

Even death has grown indifferent.

I place my hand in the embers,

Expecting pain—

Welcoming it—

But it only sighs,

And turns away.

I forget my name,

Then the shape of voices,

Then the weight of wanting.

The world exhales,

And does not inhale again.

Time loosens,

Becoming suggestion,

Then impression,

Then stillness.

I listen for a heartbeat

And hear only distance.

At the end, I remember

That I once felt.

And that it cost too much.