Hazy Mornings

The Candle.

I want to light a candle. To ignite the flame and watch it glow, illuminating the darkness around it.

I want to reach out and feel its warmth flittering across my hand. Then to pull the wool sheet around my shoulders and sit and watch the flickering orange-yellow-red.

I want to be reminded of home. Of a time before all the cold and darkness. Of a hearth with a nice, big, and warm fire. The big chair that I would sit in and read books in just a couple feet away from the fireplace.

I want that safety. I want that feeling that I’ve seemingly forgotten. It’s like an old friend whose face I can’t seem to remember.

I want this small candle to bring back all these memories. To brighten my day. Unfortunately, it won’t.

I have no matches.

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