And I am sitting here, watching a candle burn. Mulling over the mundane and its obscurities. Wondering and watching. Applying alliteration—my bestest friend.
And I am sitting here, watching a candle burn brightly. It's as if I am set in a trance and watching its flames dance amongst the glossy wax. Yet at what point does Warmth's comfort eventually pass into the threshold of being engulfed in an ember-like, painful embrace? At what point can admiring beauty burn holes into one's eyes?
And I am sitting here, watching a three-wick candle burn brightly. The three wicks never being allowed to touch, yet their flames do. A metaphor for people and their thoughts. Their paths never cross, remaining ever so parallel. But the thoughts that linger into the open void, the thoughts that strangers across the world unknowingly share...they melt into the world of the "unspoken." Melted wax pooling in a glass jar, if you will.
And I am still sitting here, watching a three-wick candle burn brightly. Wondering what beauty is left for me to possibly draw from this candle. Watching and waiting for its flames to slowly extinguish themselves whilst romanticizing the most ordinary of events. Repeatedly counting the three wicks—vacillating between three points of view. Three symbolizations. The perfect trifecta. Is this a practice for me to find beauty in the mundane? To appreciate the tiny things in life a little bit more than I already do? Or do I want to give something insentient, sentience? But no matter my reasoning,
I am still sitting here, watching a three-wick candle burn brightly...until it won't anymore.
YOU ARE READING
Fragmented
RandomA series of unfinished beginnings, endings, and sometimes their own words in between. This is a collection of storylines I ponder about, but I know I most likely do not have the agency to write each story its missing pieces.
