That candle girl is lost and things are darker. Society has no effect on her except when it comes to making her feel so terrible that she crumbles into a river on the bathroom floor. Candles only do this in slow motion. But I know the truth, Speed up the frames and you will see what is happening, the crushing violence of its fall. All for the benefit of someone else. The light she makes has black stripes in it, thin ripples of her longing for others. The candle has trouble seeing its own importance. It supposes that time is always a against it, that its powers are quietly slipping by. It keeps thinking of itself as a candle when it is more rightly described as the light. I think she was candlelike. The wax was just her desire for life. And the light was just who she was. Dear candle, Just becaues we cannot see you, doesnt mean that you are gone.
obsidity:
wow. thanks. that resonates heavily.
