WILDFIRE

Somewhere between sleep and a long exhalation, a feeling is born, like heat under the skin. Not love - more like its phantom, a reflection of the unfulfilled, but for some reason it still warms you. As if someone left the light on in an empty room - useless, but cosy. Tears flow not from pain, but from the fact that everything inside has finally thawed. And even if there are no hands to hold you, there is the sky, where you can hide with your eyes closed. There, the stars quietly toss embers - just enough to last until morning.