It was the colorless grey
of the room that burned the scene
into my memory: 
my emotions grew me 
towards you like a flower 
follows the sun,
not knowing that too much of a good thing
would hurt as much as 
too little.

I turned down the music 
and wondered at how strange it is
that a dying candle
produces its own fumes,
and a snuffed out moment
will do the same.