I lay here,

sun burning,

hot air.

 

I'd shake with laughter,

like the trees when wind rushes by,

if only you were here.

 

My mind is the wick of a lit candle,

slowly burning out.

 

No breath to release my spirit in the wind.

 

You were the smell of wood burning,

you were the crackles that filled the air.

 

The way that fire eats wood,

the way your hand felt in my hair.

 

I am the ashes left to whirl in the wind,

leaving me without a care.

 

Nothing left to fuel the fire,

life just isn't fair.

 

I lay here,

moon shining,

humid air,

Alone.