Pick an Object that Describes You, Then Describe It

by the light

It’s that time, before the clocks go back. I’m restless and exhausted; I want to sink my teeth into dreams. My body says stop, my mind says keep going— a blue sky above and storm ahead.

Trees whisper in the wind, inviting me to travel back in time to sweet summer days under the mimosa, balls of pink fluff dancing overhead.

How carefree I was then.

These moments are fleeting— When inspiration calls, I must answer, or the burning gets brighter until flames touch the sky.

I see it, the light. Smooth, scented with bergamot. When I strike a match, my thoughts shout and my legs relax. When I light a wick, the answers I’ve been searching for find me.

Molten wax pools like lava. I want to stick my fingers in. During the darkest days, resilience stays. One flame can light a room.

Its fire keeps me inspired. Its light takes me where I should be. What is a person with no passion? What is a candle with no flame?

A cold and empty world cannot stop the light—not tonight. As the wind blows harder, the flame sways, refusing to go out in smoke. It keeps burning, brighter and brighter.