Candle Flame.

The light from the candle dips and sways.  It lives on the hallway table, off the foyer.  The door opens, and a gust of air sweeps in, nearly wiping the poor thing out.  But it fights its way back, and later, when everyone is gone and I am watching from the banister, it comes to life.  Now it is gusty, powerful.  Its flame grows huge, too high.  It leaves a black mark on the wall behind it, soot.  It is like a defeated fighter coming back after the fact, fighting alone is his bedroom, realizing he can kick ass.

As the candle flickers, she realizes- I am like that.  When you blow on me too hard, I shrink, afraid.  I sputter and I blink, crouching down.  At any minute I might wink out.  But when the breeze is just right, and it sweeps beneath me in a lovely way, I rise up, a flame, and reach for the sky.



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