A Candle for the Unnamed

To the house with the yellow door 

we never lived in, 

the city I passed by, 

the stranger I almost loved. 

To the painting left in my head, 

streaked with colours no hand 

ever mixed, 

the call I never made, 

the song I hummed once, 

then forgot. 

To the child I never named.

 

There is a cemetery

not marked on any map,

where all the unlived lives lie:

the apology unsaid,

the poem unwritten,

the “yes” I swallowed,

the “no” I let rot on my tongue.

 

I light a candle tonight

for the almosts,

for the flicker before the flame,

for the ghosts

with no names to answer to.

 

Somewhere, they bloom—

delicate as breath,

wide as regret.