Post by indridcold on Nov 6, 2005 17:16:08 GMT -6
I’m sitting alone in a window sill. My friend lit me before he left. I felt so special. He waited so long to light me; I knew I must have meant something to him. Something more than just any candle, I meant more.
A girl he likes made me. I remember that day. It seems just like yesterday. She took such care, dipping me, letting me rest, then dipping me again, and again, until I am the bold, red candle you see before you.
I must smell nice too. My friend likes to give me a sniff everyday. He sighs, and then smiles with a warm look of content in his eyes. He probably thinks of that girl.
I would too. She was so pretty. So caring. She made many candles, but none like me. I’m special remember? I mean something. I am not just wax and a wick. I am much more. I am a symbol.
Sometimes while sitting in the window, I can see him walking down the street with her. He never invites her in, I think he is shy.
So, why is tonight so special? Maybe he will bring her here. Then she will see how special he is, because he lit his favourite candle.
Will she remember me? She does make quite a few candles.
Of course she will. I am one of a kind. She took so long etching the pretty patterns into me. That tickled. I remember being wrapped in some pretty paper, then being put into a box. It seemed like I was in that box forever. I waited and waited. Then when he saw me, he couldn’t stop smiling.
Hmm. He sure is taking a long time. I’m almost a quarter melted.
He’ll be home soon. Then she will see me, and she will be happy too. Then we can just… melt in each other’s arms all night. Well. Maybe not me. I am to hot. But they will. She will swoon for him, and they will get married, and I will be around to see it all. See their happy children, and see them grow old and happier together.
But not if he doesn’t hurry up.
A candle’s life is very complex. Sure, you get us, you light us, you blow us out for future use. No one thinks much of candles. If they run out, they can get another. Everyone should have a candle for this occasion. A candle you light only for one person.
I am the light that guides their way to a long, happy life together.
But not if he doesn’t hurry up.
Drip, drip, drip.
I was nervous for my first lighting. I didn’t know how it would feel. Most people don’t like to be set on fire, but that’s my life. Fire. I provide light, and warmth. Sure, not much heat, but I warm the souls of people sitting in front of me. Or perhaps at a meal. Nothing makes a girl happier than a candle lit dinner.
Maybe that is what he will do. Make her a nice meal, and have me a center piece.
But not if he doesn’t hurry up. I am almost half melted.
So here I wait. Perched in my window, watching the passers by. They are all eager to get home. It is getting pretty dark. Maybe they will have a special candle at home. Maybe they only read under a certain candle. I would love to meat another candle like me.
But that’s impossible. I am one of a kind.
Where could my friend be? Maybe he is waiting for her to be done work. Maybe she will make another special candle for my friend, and I will have a friend.
Together, we can light there night. See, candles can also be poets. I bet you didn’t know that!
Watching the wax is so soothing. It churns, and drips. Drips and churns.
It is so quiet sitting along. I wish I could sing, or something. I am getting lonely. They should be home any minute now. I hope. I am starting to melt quickly. Soon, I will only be a mere stump of my former self.
A girl he likes made me. I remember that day. It seems just like yesterday. She took such care, dipping me, letting me rest, then dipping me again, and again, until I am the bold, red candle you see before you.
I must smell nice too. My friend likes to give me a sniff everyday. He sighs, and then smiles with a warm look of content in his eyes. He probably thinks of that girl.
I would too. She was so pretty. So caring. She made many candles, but none like me. I’m special remember? I mean something. I am not just wax and a wick. I am much more. I am a symbol.
Sometimes while sitting in the window, I can see him walking down the street with her. He never invites her in, I think he is shy.
So, why is tonight so special? Maybe he will bring her here. Then she will see how special he is, because he lit his favourite candle.
Will she remember me? She does make quite a few candles.
Of course she will. I am one of a kind. She took so long etching the pretty patterns into me. That tickled. I remember being wrapped in some pretty paper, then being put into a box. It seemed like I was in that box forever. I waited and waited. Then when he saw me, he couldn’t stop smiling.
Hmm. He sure is taking a long time. I’m almost a quarter melted.
He’ll be home soon. Then she will see me, and she will be happy too. Then we can just… melt in each other’s arms all night. Well. Maybe not me. I am to hot. But they will. She will swoon for him, and they will get married, and I will be around to see it all. See their happy children, and see them grow old and happier together.
But not if he doesn’t hurry up.
A candle’s life is very complex. Sure, you get us, you light us, you blow us out for future use. No one thinks much of candles. If they run out, they can get another. Everyone should have a candle for this occasion. A candle you light only for one person.
I am the light that guides their way to a long, happy life together.
But not if he doesn’t hurry up.
Drip, drip, drip.
I was nervous for my first lighting. I didn’t know how it would feel. Most people don’t like to be set on fire, but that’s my life. Fire. I provide light, and warmth. Sure, not much heat, but I warm the souls of people sitting in front of me. Or perhaps at a meal. Nothing makes a girl happier than a candle lit dinner.
Maybe that is what he will do. Make her a nice meal, and have me a center piece.
But not if he doesn’t hurry up. I am almost half melted.
So here I wait. Perched in my window, watching the passers by. They are all eager to get home. It is getting pretty dark. Maybe they will have a special candle at home. Maybe they only read under a certain candle. I would love to meat another candle like me.
But that’s impossible. I am one of a kind.
Where could my friend be? Maybe he is waiting for her to be done work. Maybe she will make another special candle for my friend, and I will have a friend.
Together, we can light there night. See, candles can also be poets. I bet you didn’t know that!
Watching the wax is so soothing. It churns, and drips. Drips and churns.
It is so quiet sitting along. I wish I could sing, or something. I am getting lonely. They should be home any minute now. I hope. I am starting to melt quickly. Soon, I will only be a mere stump of my former self.
[/glow]
