Ashes

Alone beside the fire, in a room hallowed with silence, the gentle heat left no impression on him. He felt cold, not on his skin, but deeper. Sitting down next to the small glass door of the wood-burning stove that stood cornered against two walls, he gazed upon the embers. The fire was dying, and he couldn’t help but feel afraid. Angst, that it might be too late to save it. What had only been one night, felt like years of staring into the fire. 

It began as a spark, a tiny glimmer that quietly burned, that needed care and a soft touch to reach across the dry bark. As the inferno grew he drifted away to another place, absent, yet absorbed in the blaze before him. Even through the glass, a rich scent of charred wood had seeped into the depth of his lungs. It may have been as if a wool was pulled over his eyes but with each breath he felt safe, a comfort that nothing would ever change. He remained mesmerized by the glints of amber and gold that danced hand-in-hand within that iron box. It was bliss. It was everything, seemingly everything he’d ever known. But now it was coming to an end, as all things do.

As he watched the quiet flickers of light, glistening with intense but faded heat, he wished that he could breathe life back into those embers. Just for a little longer. He knew though, deep down, the truth. Just as memories come in time to replace moments, no matter how bright these embers had once glowed, soon only ashes will remain.