She hugs her knees close to her chest. Flicks of light and shadow shift her face in the fickle candlelight. It masks the true meaning of the smile across her lips—I can't tell if she's happy or if she's about to cry.
"She was fearless. She used to touch the wax of the candle while it was still burning—chanting my name and making me watch."
She reaches towards the small tea light and dips her finger closer to the melting wax.
She pauses.
"But I always knew better than to copy her. If I did something that stupid then I would get hurt...why would I want to learn a lesson like that when I didn't need to..." A change in the breeze nearly snuffs the candle out completely. "She knew that too. But she still would do things like that—because it was funny. It made her feel alive. And I couldn't help but wander...what if I allowed myself to be burnt? What if I let myself..."
"Feel alive?"
Our eyes meet. She dips her fingertip into the wax. We watch it dry over her skin like a hard shell or a thick paste.
"It doesn't hurt as much I thought it would..." She marvels, "Would you look at that."
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
ashes and sunflowers
Poesiawords flow through the stream of my thoughts... the warmth of my happiness beats down on my garden, while the depression batters it like a winter storm. life is a wildfire...destruction and growth come hand in hand... through the ashes, my sunflower...
