It’s 10:42 pm and despite being beyond exhausted, I am at peace.
I am alone more often than I’d like, but I have the brightest, warmest love of all.
My hope is the flickering candle on the far side of the room.
At a distance but burning with reassuring intensity.
Oh, to love you, to be loved by you.
The greatest pleasure I know.
The warped matchstick
First flickering to life
an explosion of warm golden embers
held in my hand
travelling the length of the wood
a steady traverse
charring and burning
a strange new scent of sage
finally, the warped matchstick
wilting and blackening
till it droops eventually
the light has died out
as has the fire in my eyes
