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The candle flickered.
I stared at her dance, she lit up stygian corners. A warmth to cries. A light to lives.
And, she has no shadow. Perfect, isn't she?
Perhaps because we fail to see, her other side. Perhaps we fail to hear, her story.
How did she become what she is today? Who shaped her? What shaped her? She wasn't born this way!
She talks of darkness, she's seen it. After all, she is noticed most, when it is dark.
I still stared. She told her story, through her dance. and I, I listened today.
You'd assume she'd talk of light, she is a candle, after all. But no. She spoke with golden words, she spoke of black diamonds. She spoke of the tenebrous.
Spoke of many things, fools and kings. I learnt from her, she had nothing to take from me, I was all her anyway.
She told me, most refused to believe. (Or they refused to listen in the first place). How could someone so bright, talk of unending dark?
But I discerned today. That is why, the candle burns out.
