Wax dripped down the edges of the candle, pooling into puddles at the base of the stem. It was fascinating to touch, the way it carved itself into the side, curving downward until meeting its fate at the bottom, where it congregated. I rubbed the wax between my fingers, feeling the hard edges crush under my grasp.

They crumbled and sprinkled to the ground below, another journey for the small, insignificant piece of wax. A sigh escaped my lips; a sigh of remorse and fear. Honesty normally escapes me, but I welcome it’s cold touch today. I speak of my fears and trepidation out loud, listing each one, as the wax drips beside me. I welcome this bit of truth into my life.

A tear slides from one scarred, blinded eye, and creates a torrential downpour of sorrow. Swimming in my fears, I purse my lips and blow out the candle.