Cake Crumble

Flour dust settles on the countertop,

a thin white lie covering cracks.

The bowl smudged, batter half-mixed,

a forgotten recipe of silence.

I light a candle—one—

its flame droops like a sad thing,

stuttering in the heavy air.

No voices, no laughter,

just the fridge humming,

the street outside breathing,

and me, alone,

watching the wax drip down,

each drop a countdown

for a day that never woke.