A love reduced to ashes—

black, flaky, burnt to a crisp—

lays contained within a pit on the sea shore.

She’s been landlocked for so long—

in a different place and a different time—

with no plans of returning to that beach.

But by chance she happens upon it, and walks by that very pit where the ashes still sit silently.

The air providing them no hope—

damp, brisk and blustery—

reminding her of the once blazing bonfire’s untimely demise.

A fire not forgotten,

its warmth still felt in her skin,

but one put out by the Dictator Time.

A fire too difficult to maintain from a distance

and one that wreaked too much havoc on her heart.

A fire gone cold—yet still familiar.