Faith Thins

My fingers trace the prayer book’s spine,

soft and worn, pages whispering dust.

Words I used to hold

now slip like sugar in water,

melting slow and unseen.

The candle gutters, wax pooling

in slow drips,

smothering light with sticky silence.

Arguments echo still—sharp edges

softening, dissolving,

a faith once solid, thinning

into something wet and pale,

no longer holding shape,

just quiet loss settling in the cracks.