The Light That Loved the Dark

I was the candle, she was the night, Born from the void, untouched by light. I stood in her silence, a flicker so small, Believing my flame could matter at all. I offered my fire, my warmth, my breath, She offered me silence, an echo of death. Yet still, I kept burning in quiet despair, For love sometimes lives where it isn’t aware. She wasn’t cruel—just bound to her fate, Some hearts aren’t cold, they’re simply late Late to feel warmth, late to understand, That even a candle leaves light on the land. I realized then, as my flame grew weak, Not every love finds the answer it seeks. Some lights exist not to conquer the night, But to prove they could burn even without being right. So I gave her my glow, though she asked for none, For some souls are moonless… still waiting for sun. And in my last spark, a truth came undone—Love isn’t about being needed… it’s about choosing to burn.