She was melancholy's mistress dwelling in the shadows of yesterday.

She was dwindling in the darkness, a flame sinking into a puddle of wax. 

Flickering light, still burning--for she never knew how to stop.  

Quiet but far from silent.

That's when he found her. 

He reached his hand into the shadows and bid them farewell as they scampered like rodents. 

Melancholy ran away screaming, because Melancholy didn't stand a chance against kind eyes. 

And she didn't mourn him. 

Because there Christ was, right on time. 

Perfectly her savior, spooling moonlight. 

The kind that is an epidemic. 

Quieting her burning worry, he heard the words she did not say and then gave her a new vocabulary.