In the Company of Shadows

In the ashes of love, he buried his heart, A fractured soul, pulled slowly apart. Left by the warmth, yet burned by its flame, He drifted through shadows, bound by his shame. Pages of Dostoevsky clutched in his hand, A guide through the darkness he can’t understand. In each line, a mirror; in each word, a scar, Proof that even the broken can still bear a star. Though haunted by loss, by betrayal’s sting, In Dostoevsky’s chaos, he finds something to cling. Not hope, not redemption, nor love’s sweet return— But a strange kind of peace in the ache of the burn.