Between Bruises and Blooms

I wasn’t alone.

Not really.

The candle knew it
before I did.

Its flame kept bowing
toward the empty doorway,
like someone unseen
had stepped onto the porch.

I packed my bowl
with trembling hands,
struck the lighter,
and watched the smoke
drift inside the house
without a single breeze.

Someone
was breathing.

Not loudly.

Just enough
to remind me
that abandoned
doesn’t always mean empty.

The ivy covered the walls
like it was trying
to keep whatever lived there
from wandering too far.

Still—

every broken window
felt like an eye.

Every shadow
looked almost human.

When I stood to leave,
the candle went out.

Not from the wind.

From a whisper
I couldn’t quite hear.