The night had grown long,
and her lantern dim,
but not extinguished.

For within the trembling glass
a stubborn light remained,
like a heartbeat refusing silence.

She walked, though weary,
her steps echoing in empty fields.
Her laughter—
no longer loud,
but soft, like a hush to the world—
wrapped around her sorrow
and kept it warm.

And in the distance,
a whisper of dawn pressed against the horizon,
a promise she could not yet touch.

She wondered if someone,
somewhere,
might walk toward her—
hands open,
eyes kind,
ready to see beyond her laughter
and into her quiet ache.

It seemed distant,
perhaps impossibly so.
Yet still she carried the lantern,
for she had learned:
hope does not blaze—
it flickers.
And in the flicker,
there is tomorrow.