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.