Lights

By Aria D’Amico

Tiny bulbs are strung across the walls I built to forget.

I see your hands, steadying a cup of coffee, holding both a cigarette and a smile for me.

A light flickers, and I remember that day.

Silence.

Brushing a strand of hair from your face, my fingers trembling

as if touching something holy.

You let out one last laugh, and for a moment, the whole room glowed.

Then the light faded, and with it, one memory after another, left behind.

Your eyes closed,

the last light fading.