Burnt : A Short Poem

He was standing still.

Holding a photograph in his hand.

It looked like that was a picture of someone.

That smell of a parched paper,

Sight of her fading away, slowly,

Sound of a flame rising above,

Numb feeling of the coldest pain,

Flavored in a dark smoke...

Not only that paper was burning, but so did his heart, his memories and himself!

Burning hot enough to give him some comfort,

This winter...