Intimitas Chromatica
on the light that burns alone
No one else noticed.
In the heat-bloom of paper suns,
hers alone was green—
a color the air couldn’t explain.
She struck the match once,
and the paper breathed.
Green—clear, sure,
the kind of color that kept its own counsel.
No one turned to see.
She hadn’t asked them to.
The light gathered itself,
a small, disciplined heart.
It rose like visible thought—
slow, certain—
parting the crowd of warmer flames.
Green—because she meant to live.
Green—because endurance
is rebellion that doesn’t announce itself.
I watched from the edge, silent.
The air between us held
the clean ache of recognition—
one will seeing another.
When her lantern touched the dark,
it didn’t vanish—
it changed the color of the distance.
For a while, even the sky
seemed to remember
what it takes to stay.
About the Creator
Fatal Serendipity
Fatal Serendipity writes flash, micro, speculative and literary fiction, and poetry. Their work explores memory, impermanence, and the quiet fractures between grief, silence, connection and change. They linger in liminal spaces and moments.
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