A candle that never measures time because I have no fires left to burn, a cluster of stars that glitter the promise of another world I have not the strength to hold and scatter. You glow in the light of a new sun, sleeping in the painting I captured of you — resting without a pillow as you used to do. Outside the world sings; burdens breathe, are borne as the wind shakes the tree. But here where time does not melt, and stars cannot shine free, I have only the memories of us as a means of release.
Many thanks to Rochelle for organising Friday Fictioneers.