From the Embers

Mere months ago, 

my insides burned

with the dying, smokeless flame

of a betrayed ideal. 

Only a sliver remained

to be consumed. 

I had wanted it that way;
I’d grown weary

of its empty promises. 

How patient I had been,

How forgiving

of a reckless ideal 

that failed to deliver,

once… twice… thrice

with growing cost. 

I blamed her,

she who’d planted it there

in the first place -

peddler of false hope,

a foolish believer.

Not me though.

I lit the match,

I swallowed it,

and I watched
from an imagined distance

as my old friend burned,

consuming me with it
unwittingly.

How did you know

to sift through the embers

for a glint of hope


and build from it our home?