Your words reflect off each other like blinding mirrors, amplifying your small interior sun. I sputtered out with those dying bursts in our so recent history, and maybe any glimmer that can now be found is a lost remnant, lightyears-old, reason not enough to strike out matches for me. Despite the dark, you do fine all by yourself. Your words, bounding off each other one by one by one, marking in relief with sharp cutting shadow my failing flame. On my knees, a tribute to what felt like fomer glory.