Between Bruises and Blooms

I didn’t come here
to chase ghosts.

I came to leave something behind.

One candle.

One packed bowl.

One heart
too tired to keep carrying itself.

The flame whispered.

The smoke answered.

Somewhere inside the trees
an owl refused to interrupt.

The abandoned house
stood without judgment.

No questions.

No apologies.

Only old walls
covered in green,
patient enough
to outlive everyone
who ever called it home.

I exhaled slowly.

Maybe prayers
were always meant
to smell like burning herbs.