nostalgia

we’re in the midst of it— the winds fierce around us, my hands to the grounded spark and your back to me.

fed, moment by moment, the flame faltered finds strength; it can take on more, now, I'm sure. I reach within myself, fumbling for twigs, hope growing as our wind subsides—

yet in a thunderclap you turn, eyes clouded as sky above, gale returning with force. you lean and blow; what was growing dies.

giver, hear the tragedy of your gift: that it could be squandered, and worse still that it was hated before it was given at all.