The match trembles between my fingers,
a silent war in a room too still.
Smoke or breath—what matters now?
The weight of nothingness, the weight of her.

She lingers like an unfinished line,
half a whisper, half a wound.
A memory blurred at the edges,
but sharp enough to cut through the dark.

Did she ever love me, or just the idea?
A boy with dreams too heavy to hold,
an engineer of castles in air,
a builder of futures that never came.

Outside, the night hums with indifference.
Inside, I weigh the lighter’s click
against the echo of her voice—
soft, pleading, unbearably distant.

I could fade with the smoke,
or chase the sun she once pointed to.
Between life and her,
I choose to breathe.

In a room where books pile high,
Echoes of dreams refuse to die.
A restless mind, a weary soul,
At twenty-four, still chasing a goal.

Through the window, the world spins fast,
A blur of futures, a ghost of past.
The sun dips low, the sky turns red,
Yet here I sit, lost in my head.

Lines of code and circuits bright,
Mock me softly in the dimming light.
A degree framed, but dust collects,
On promises life won’t protect.

I reach for a cigarette, pause mid-air,
What would it change? Who would care?
The smoke might dance, the ember glow,
But answers? No, they never show.

Dreams cost time, and time runs thin,
A battle fought but hard to win.
Yet somewhere deep, a spark remains,
A quiet fire, defying chains.

So I let the match slip from my hand,
Breathe in deep, and make a stand.
Not today, I tell the night—
Not today, I'll lose this fight.