The candle flickered slowly, wondering if its existence is justified. The flame burned listlessly, moving restlessly within itself, tethered to the white flesh of the candle. Her eyes skimmed over its outline, resting on the point where the luminosity was the most intense. The thread within the candle seemed to yearn slow death, inviting the flame to consume her a little by little. Gratification indeed!
Salty drops of water tread cautiously on her beautiful eyelashes. A tear escaped a closed eye and streaked down the dusky cheek. There was no one to hold her head and comfort her in the worst moment of her life.
Her curly hair fluttered about in the wind; a wind that had been raging since last evening, when it rained like there was not tomorrow. Was there a tomorrow? Had it not yielded to today? It had been five years now. Yet, she wondered if being honest was the best path. Could she have persevered a little more—pushing that waning patience a little more than its specifications? Nothing seemed to make sense any more.
Then, she noticed the window shutters banging aimlessly on a wooden frame that had been around since her wrinkled grandmother’s time. That was a time when the household was filled with people, their voices and huge egos fed on success. As she leant forward to close the window, she noticed the tree standing next to the cowshed, outside her apartment complex. It had been languishing there, an eyesore on this plush complex that catered to neo-rich families brandishing their swanky cars as status symbols, almost threatening to drive over Marx if he ever came in their way.
The memories came flooding back. “He” had been her closest cohort and firm friend for a short while—a most handsome phase of life, full of fun, witty remarks peppering their oft-rocky relationship. Each day, they would pitch their wits against each other. And each time, he would yield quietly. He would listen with great intent, as she poured out her angst to a man she knew only as a vague reflection. Someone who was never there, in person, or in soul, but who was there for her, each time she needed solace from a madding life.
Her innate idealism and intellect had always been her strengths. They were also the biggest reasons for her great anguish. Each time a little beggar-child crossed her busy path to work, she would shed a silent tear. Each time she saw the magnolias placed carefully on her desk, she would jump about in joy. Her tender heart was well hidden in the cheerful, almost boisterous manner she went in about the world; a manner that attracted so many to her.
It was her cheerfulness that had brought them together in a strange twist of fate that both did not expect. She had never realized when they had moved so close together. He was there for her, all the time, just as she expected him to be. She even remembered wishing that he could’ve been there for her since childhood.
Times had changed. And now she wished for him, wistfully knowing fully well that was not to be.
The candle crackled loudly. She turned to look at it, a slow and deliberate movement so as to not disturb the melancholy that was helping her get over the bitterness and despair of loneliness. There were a million souls around, who could give her company and life her spirits on this dark evening. She craved none of them.
Here eyes looked on uncaringly, as she saw the moth kissing the flame of death, intent on attaining love or hell. “Love aflame!” she thought aloud. Those were the words she said each time she saw the moth enter the flame.
Five years had passed since she saw the same dance of death every evening. And all she had to say were these two words. But she had no one to tell them to. The one person who would’ve heard her voice was far away, having died romancing her, all in vain.
