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As morning steals away from night, a small fire clings to its rock base. Held close by its hot and glowing wood and fueled by cold chilly air. No praise for a job well done, only an inward nod of its performed duty meets with the acceptance of its fate. Dew settles on the ground while passers by pause to warm hands sharing words of love and honor amongst themselves. A part of the joy for a fleeting moment yet an emptiness seeps into an ever growing void of disappointment. The breath of an instant seen though the eyes of one who shall never share, never feel, is clung to jealously. The last embers pulled deep into the heart, not wishing for the cold air to snuff it out while knowing hope is beyond reach. Then for an instant a moment is shared by another. A moment witch makes existence seem worthy, and hope within view. With a loving breath life is willed into the fire and embers speed once more reviving what was lost if only for one last frail attempt to feel apart of something.

If the sun could be told to stay. Told to hold its place, hold its passage. Then the feeling of usefulness would not be in vain, would not bring such despair when heat of the afternoon pulls away that one last shread of love. Once again embers slip away the glow slowly dies. If laughter wasn’t so close, if the knowledge of what wasn’t to be attained wasn’t so clear perhaps death would be easily accepted. Then with once last crack a log slips and the heart is exposed to a gentle wind witch steals a soul with unyielding speed.

A hallow shell is all that remains, passed and unlooked upon except by a few. Some find pity sharing thoughts of the night to come and the excitement that will once again be shared, but without a heart, with out a soul it won't be the same. When night falls upon the land again new wood may be given new fuel added, but for one it is too late. Another night will come to late.