Your indifference is the abandoned torch that scours old bridges

Your indifference is the abandoned torch that scours old bridges, Hiding in shadows the echoes of each tremulous and cold step. Your wounds, coppery reliefs that lure me dishonorably, Urge me to explore how I pretended, burning, turned into dust of a severed star. I return to the field where your scorching heat fosters germinations of the void, To gaze upon how my soul became ashes in vain, yet still flutters from roots of light. Your scar, a constellation on the sky of sadness, guiding astral navigations, While I seek you among the ruins of the fire bequeathed by your regal flame. In silent evenings, when the stars fold into themselves, your indifference tickles my dreams, A somber choreography of shadows that encircle me and whispers a refrain of bitter legends. It's the dark moment that terrifies yet transforms into the portrait of resignation, A chimeric dance, where the distance between us weaves its endless and unreal wings. Your indifference, a frozen lake in a land foreign to the warmth of day, In a world where your memories fly like migratory birds to other summers. In my palm, the ash of us – a dust of vigilant moon, That tempts me to create from your absence a monotonously white world – the memory of a yearning's death. And yet, in my heart, where nameless love still burns, Echoes of your voice drift, as if wanting to sweep away time, Like a broken link from the cosmic chain, a symbol of a secret unknown, Every star's twinkle – a remembrance, each comet – a doubt, within which, mystically, I seek you.