To be coy, the unprecedented keeps arriving at my door with gifts unannounced.
A match stricken, smelling of lilac instead of sulfur, lights a wick that has been lit for aeons.
Fire that cannot be ignited by the strike of a flint or muddled with hellfire burns a candle of long sung preservation.
The flame that can never be extinguished.
It's been obscured, keeping me from seeing...