She tried to drift, to break away:
A stranger’s smile, new words to say, a second glass — yet still the flame
Inside her heart refused to stay.

Not fire — more a hearth’s slow song,
Where two belong, where nights grow long.
Her head once rested, safe, complete,
Now every touch feels incomplete.

Not him — his eyes a different blue.
Not him — his laugh pitched higher too.
He joked off-beat, she wished him gone,
To cut him short: “Enough. Move on.”

Not him — no guitar in his hands,
Not him — no songs from distant lands.
No hat to tip, no charm to spare,
And in his talk she’s lost, aware.

She strains to guide, to spark, to feel,
To light a flame that won’t reveal.
But truth breaks through in every whim:
They all are “not”… they all — not him.

She closes her eyes, exhausted, alone,
And whispers: one more espresso,
And then I’ll go home.