I could hear the faint crackling sounds that made themselves heard over the hustle of Boston city life. They were soft in a way that make me wonder whether they are real or something I, falsely, keep imagining. I could also feel the gentle warmth that careened over the glass edges and came to rest on my fingers, letting me know that I am not alone. I could smell, almost even taste, the fragrance that is being set free, which as a gesture of gratitude, is filling my room as well as my lungs with a delicate mixture of strawberries and coconuts.
There had been times, many moons ago, the soft glow, which started out in almost transparent yellow but darkened to orange and crimson as it progressed upwards till it became a black trail, almost silk-like before disappearing completely, had been a common occurrence, and one that had never caught my attention let alone my reverence.
Now, as my fingers wrap themselves around the candle stand, my eyes dart around in the darkness hoping against hope to be able to witness the sight again, even if it was for just one more time.
Alas, I can no longer see.