Unfinished Fire

Do I hold what you left with steady hands,

Or have I let it slip through quiet fingers,

Softened the edges of your burning will,

Turned it into something safer,

Something you would not recognize?

.

There are hours I question your silence—

Whether it was meant to guide me

Or simply the absence of time

Closing in too quickly

For you to speak your final truth.

.

I stood where your breath faltered,

Close enough to feel the weight of ending,

Yet far enough to misunderstand it.

Was it duty that kept me there,

Or fear of what would remain without you?

.

Now I walk beside what you built,

A reluctant guardian of unfinished fire,

Holding both flame and doubt together.

I could let it burn as you intended,

Or soften it into something the world accepts.

.

But which is the greater betrayal—

To preserve you exactly as you were,

Or to reshape you into something that survives?

.

Your absence lingers like a question

That refuses to settle in my chest.

It speaks in moments of stillness,

In the quiet after choices are made,

In the echo of every uncertain step forward.

.

And I am left here,

Balancing fire against water,

Memory against meaning,

Asking not what you would have wanted—

But whether I am strong enough

To answer without you.