Behind the curtain, two shadows dance in the flickering candlelight. Moths drawn to the flame, bumping futilely against the glass shade, two lives saved from their hearts’ desire.
The other shadow sits unmoving, rocking chair stilled, on the silent porch. No glass to keep her from harm, heart charred to a crisp by the flame of rejected love. I cannot reach her, but I smell the smoky embers of despair.
I move to sit beside her, hand on hers. After an hour, she grips it tight. Tiny stirring of micro-roots as her heart begins the long climb back to the light.
