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keeping me alive sometimes seems impossible, like the flame of a candle.
sometimes, letting the fire of the candle die halfway through the consumption of the whole wax stick looks as tempting as pointless seems to keep her from withering.
the amount of effort is startling and unsettling, as it seems completely useless. because what does, at the end of the day, that little light do in the middle of the vast dining room on top of the centre table? it is almost invisible.
maybe if it disappeared no one would even notice.
like the flame of a candle, that sometimes becomes so weak that you may think it has extinguished and makes you desire the contrary because nights maybe might feel too dark and too long without it.
like the flame of a candle, when it burns like never before, in the middle of a big and windy and thundering storm. so much that it scares you, you fear that the whole room will go up in flames. and you wonder, how, in this situation, it is so alive, when in the calmest of the calmer situations it seems to be dying little by little.
what is it, about candle's flames, that make them so contradictory? why does it look like there's never peace there, in that world of heat and light?
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This is truly breathtaking. Lost of words. One of the best things I have read. Thank you.
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