There came a night
when her laughter cracked,
when her smile felt heavy,
and the lantern in her hands
grew dim.

For every vow she had made to others,
she had left none for herself.
And the silence she once befriended
returned,
pressing against her chest
like a forgotten winter.

She whispered to the flame,
her voice breaking like brittle glass:

“I have kept you alight for so long,
but who will keep me?”

The lantern flickered,
a soft heartbeat of light,
as though it too mourned with her.

She longed for a hand—
warm, steady, real—
to close around hers,
to steady the shaking glass,
to whisper not vows,
but presence.

Yet the night remained still.
The river carried her lanterns away,
and with them,
her secret hope floated farther,
becoming stars no one else
could name.

But even in her faltering,
she did not let go.
The forgotten lady of lanterns
lifted her chin,
and carried the flame
through the night.