Candles

 

She stared into the candle’s flame, mesmerized and thoughtful.

Birthday candles, so many hundreds of them between herself, her children, her relatives and friends, traipsing through the decades like an endless vigil.

There were candles on the advent wreath her mother put out every Christmas, as well, and she remembered blowing them out when she was six years old. Her long hair had caught on fire, and she could still smell the acridness of burning hair, and the awful “pixie haircut” she’d had to get.

Candles at weddings.

Candles at funerals.

She lit this one every night.

Just for company.