Candles

I miss candles. I miss waking with one clasped in between my fingers, with the flickering light thrown over my wrists as I walk from room to room. I miss the wax that makes messes on countertops and leaves hardened, brightly colored trails in formations along the candle shaft. The light my candles cast is warm, almost burning if you dare to stare right into the flame itself. But I don’t mind the shadow it leaves on my vision. The imprint is a connection, a mesmerizing bond between me and the hypnotic light. I have a candle with me now. I’m not at school of course, or else I would be fined, or scolded by my roommate. I am at home. At home with my candles.