Pale Fire

I fixed the leak with grocery tape

The window still cried when it rained

We slept in coats through early spring

The stove was red, but nothing boiled

You said the dreams were getting loud

And moved your books to mother's place

I found your note under the cup

It only said: don't wait for me

The rice was gone, the light was off

I washed one plate and dried my hands

Your shoes still waited by the door

I didn't move them

You left no picture, just the nail

The frame was gone, the wall still pale

I cooked for two, then threw it out

I lit a fire, it burned too small

Your mother called but didn't speak

Just breathed like she forgot the words

I wrote your name on every bill

Then crossed it out before I paid

They asked if I had heard from you

I said you're doing fine these days

They nodded like they understood

But didn't ask again

You left no sound, just quiet air

I trimmed the lamp's old threadbare flare

I opened windows, watched them close

The fire died, and no one knows

Your jacket still has crumbs inside

I almost wore it once in June

I thought of calling, didn't try

The dusk had come too soon

I sleep with lights on

Not because of fear

Just habit now

From when you left

You didn't shout, you didn't cry

You packed at night, then said goodbye

I burned the shirt you wore last May

And watched the smoke just drift away

The matchbox rattles soft and dry

I strike, it sparks, then nothing stays

I light a fire, it starts to bloom

But never stays, it never stays