A Candle for the Unnamed

Here’s to the child I never named,

the call I never made,

the song I hummed once,

then forgot.

 

To the painting left in my head,

streaked with colours no hand

ever mixed.

To the house with the yellow door

we never lived in,

the city I passed by,

the stranger I almost loved.

 

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.