One night, as you performed
with all the celestial spheres,
a figure emerged from the swirling mist.
This one wasn’t shrouded in despair.
His eyes held a knowing glint,
and a smile played on his lips,
like a half-remembered melody.

“An impressive display,” he said,
his voice a soothing murmur like wind chimes on a deserted beach. 
“But the flame feeds on more than defiance. Does it not yearn for something more?”

You stared, mesmerized. 
“Who are you?” you whispered,
the question catching in your throat.

“A fellow traveller,” he replied, stepping closer.
“One who has danced with both light and shadow.”

He gestured towards the flame on your palm.
“Your fire burns for its own sake,
a beautiful rebellion, but a lonely one. 
Let it touch another heart,
ignite a spark within another soul.
It might just be the sunrise you never expected.”

His words hung heavy in the air,
a challenge and a promise. 
You looked at the faces in the mist,
their yearning mirroring your own. 

A slow smile,
like the first bloom on a barren winter branch,
graced your lips.
You lifted your hand,
the defiant flame hovering between you and the crowd.
This time, the invitation wasn’t one of spectacle, but of connection.