#12082024

I can hear the soft remnants of piano through the apartment walls. The candle in front of me burns listlessly and reminds me of myself. I'm sitting here quietly, still but for my breathing, and I can feel an aching warmth in my legs, in my bones, in my muscles. Nothing to be done about it and forced into stillness like the flame burning in its jar, I cannot move, I cannot move, I need to but I do not want to. I nod at the candlewick. It nods back at me.