She, the Night Flame, by Ruşen

With a grace made for performance, she extended her leg, ankle arched with slow control,

balancing with one foot on the midnight grass, and tipped the last of the candles over.

In a circle enclosing her the earth alit, casting dancing shadows on her skin that I traced with my

eyes. Memorising every line, every last look that she spared me.

From outside her ring of fallen candles, I watched as her curls intermittently caught whispers of

light. Any remnant of my hands weaving through them disappeared into the night sky.

She turned, ashen feet taking small steps, and looked for me over the flames. Our souls had

fallen for one another in a language that over time grew into silence. Emptied of words where

before we had many, I reached for her hands, uncaring of the heat, reached for her face, the pain

meaning nothing to me and her heart being everything.

Skin to skin, the brush of our fingertips between flames, fleeting. Her eyes searched mine. Mine

that only saw her. Hers that still told me she misses me, searing with love, but no longer seeing

the lover that she once knew. Aching and desperate, I moved to wipe her tears, as I had done so

many times, but the heat dried them and stole her sorrow from me. Noticing, knowing, she gave

me a gentle smile.

When she stepped back for the last time, I heard the death of a thousand stars.