HER: Tired Hearts Still Glow

She sits in the hush between night and memory, a flicker of smoke curling like a forgotten prayer. The glass before her catches the last ember of warmth, a reflection of all the fires she’s survived. Her eyes—half dream, half storm—speak of battles fought in silence, of love that burned too long, too deep. Even in her weariness, there is light— the quiet kind that refuses to die, the kind only tired hearts can hold.