Candles flickering at even the smallest hint of
a muttered breath.

What stories do candles have to tell?
What shadows have been cast upon their muted light?

Shadows of lovers, dancing and embracing until the soft flame burns down,
The Wick now bent over and gone like dandelion
so suddenly blown into the breeze.

Only to be replaced and tossed aside without even the smallest hint of care;

The once homely smell of Vanilla dies out and
gives way to Chloroform.

© Willows