long ago, before the stones were kicked from their places in the sacred ring, we spoke of candles and windows, and how we would always leave a small light burning for one another. it was a vow of sorts, the candle in the darkness, if only from afar, the sign by which we would assure one another if ever our paths fell in different directions, if ever we were uncertain of one another’s care.
i often wonder if he remembers… or if this too, was twisted into yet another aspersion to sling. it matters not, of course. i would welcome any arrival, even if pointed and seeking softness.
i still make my little candles, set them in the window, and each night, breathe a small prayer of hope and love into the world. whether they ever find him, or if they are comfort, i could not say. i do not think it matters that i know. one doesn’t honor something to be recognized for it, but because it is a thing worth honoring.
the sill is coated with wax these days. it drapes in weird and wonderful patterns toward the floor. twisted and muted pastels, they run in thickening, wax ropes… perhaps they anchor some unseen thing. perhaps i imagine too much.
no matter. it is a soothing ritual to light them, to watch their tiny flickerings; all they are and will ever be, given toward the chance that some small sliver of light might be there…. if ever an eye turned to look for it.
a candle in the sill of life, burning steady, true, and constant. as i promised, as was given. it is not much, but it’s all i’ve got. for what it is worth, i am still happy to give it.