Too Late Brightness

The candle burns unevenly,

wax pooling like slow regrets

around a crooked wick.

I held the notebook tight,

fingers tracing faded lines,

thinking, this should have been said.

The moment flares, then dulls—

a thought caught too late,

a sudden flame in the wrong dark.

No switch, no sudden light,

just the slow drip of what might have been,

left flickering where shadows linger.