You were the first flame I had ever touched,
Yet I misplaced the burn for warmth.
I thought I had found forever
in the brief flicker of your eyes,
a sanctuary where my heart could rest,
a name my soul could grow old beside.

But you—
you fed me hope like poisoned wine.
You spoke of no time for love,
yet spilled your hours so freely
to the laughter of your friends,
leaving me starved
at the edge of your silence.

And something in me died.

Not loudly,
not with shouts or shattering glass,
but quietly—
like a candle smothered by its own smoke.
I became hollow,
a stranger in my own skin,
my reflection blurred,
my name unspoken in my own mouth.

You didn’t just leave—
you unraveled me.
Thread by thread,
belief by belief,
until nothing was left
but a numb echo
of the girl who thought love
meant home.

Yet, now I wander through myself
like a house abandoned,
every room still haunted
by the ghost of a first love
that never learned
how to stay.