A burning flame book cover

A burning flame


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Submitted by Jasmine.malik.888.ldr on November 18, 2024


								
My fingers brush against the rough surface of the table. The empty chair before me pierces my cheeks, its mocking gaze twisting my insides. Flames whirl around me like a mischievous child playing tag. I smile. The warmth of the fire carries secrets, but there is no echo in my memories. Shadows stretch, as if time itself wishes to trap me in a cold embrace, and I wonder if mourning ever truly ceases. The scent of memories lingers in the air, and my heart becomes ensnared in a thread of nostalgia. I hung all our photos in every corner of the house, like a labyrinth of overflowing memories, hoping that this way you might linger a little longer before you left. Yet, our reflections, smiling and fleeting, don black in every frame, whispering forgotten stories. The flames rise, playful and bright, like dreams trying to escape the weight of oblivion. I sit here, clinging to the spark that remains, while life continues its macabre ritual. The table, the chair, the fire: silent witnesses to a pain that refuses to fade. The chair begins to tremble beneath me, like an injured animal. The wood creaks in a symphony of farewell. I feel how the fire consumes it, as if claiming its tribute. My clothes, heavy and damp, cling to my skin like a memory that will not let go. With every brush, the wounds that never heal sting anew. Sometimes, the past shines with the intensity of a lighthouse, illuminating the landscape of my mind; other times, they are illusions slipping through my fingers, as if time mocks my attempts to hold on to what once was. It is a cruel game: an intermittent dance where their image is drawn and erased, fading into the air like the smoke of a fire that flickers out. I stand on the threshold between what was and what no longer is, and each attempt to recall their face becomes a struggle. The features dissolve, transforming into a thick fog that clings to my thoughts, while their voice fades into a distant echo, a whisper drowned in the silence of my memory. The heat begins to envelop me, and like a drifting ship, I let myself be carried away into a vortex of madness. Its warmth embraces me, like serpents slithering over my skin, marking every wound I thought had closed, reminding me of what we can never become. So I remain, suspended in this familiar blaze that knows me too well. An old friend who visits me from time to time. A fire that burns yet also comforts. My burns reopen, and the blood, crimson as the aching of my heart, surges again, rushing like a river that carries my thoughts back to the past, to days that will never return.
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    "A burning flame Books." Literature.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2025. Web. 20 Jan. 2025. <https://www.literature.com/book/a_burning_flame_3612>.

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