“She wrote his name on a piece of paper
and lit it with a match.
The letters curled
as they turned dark and misshapen
until she didn’t recognize them.
They were figments of something
that she had done in her past, lost
into some other form of existence.

Where did the letters go now?

She tried to find traces within the ash
of some resemblance of what used to be.
She dug down, her fingers turning
black and gray like the depths of her.
He was gone.

Gone.

What was she left with but ashes and darkness once the light of the flame went out? The smell of smoke lingered like a memory of him. Was this the end or could she write a new word? Not a new name, not his name, but could she call a new word into existence? A new piece of HER; a new reason for her existence? Picking up the permanent marker, Amy placed it in her pocket for later. Ashes blow in the creek bed and blend with the stream, moving down like sand in an hourglass.”