"***** out that candle, it's too bright," he snaps, staring out the window like there's something lurking in the dark, waiting for the two of you. You lean over and blow out the tiny fire, the blaze disappearing almost instantly, nothing left but lingering smoke, rising higher until it fades into the air.
The hot wax drips down the side of the candle slowly. He stands at the window with his hands in his pockets and you sit on the couch with your legs folded. Clocks tick and you hear the air turn on. You feel the urge to touch the clocks face and push its hands back forcibly.
He finally turns around and stares at you, his eyes flashing in the dim room.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asks, exasperated of the unspoken words that weighed so heavily on the silent air.
You watch the drops of wax slightly quicken down the side of the candle. "I can keep burning this candle but the wax is still there."
"Yeah, so?" How typical of him, you think you should stop trying to touch his heart with metaphors but it's the only language you've ever known.
"I keep trying to burn away everything that happened when you were gone," you say with exhaustion as a thousand memories play in your head, "But they never really go away. Every time I set all of the memories on fire all I end up doing is burning my hands on lies and sorry excuses and broken promises, I just scorch my head and hot wax drips on my heart."
He stares at the dead candle. Maybe there's shame written across his face, maybe it's annoyance, nothing can be sure in the shadows.
"I can try and burn them away all I want, but they'll just turn to liquid wax and harden all over again." You say as the wax droplets begin to solidify on the candle.
"Then burn something else, that's a nasty smelling candle anyways." He smirks, always trying to lighten the mood.
You raise an eyebrow.
"Look, you can either spend all of your time burning these memories and reliving them, or maybe you could set yourself on fire for something new. You never know," he says, picking up the lighter and lighting the candle again, "maybe you'll find something so special that burning for it is worth all of the bad candles."
He tried his best to speak your language, it may not have been the best metaphor but his attempts were to be admired.
"What are you burning for?"
The candle flickers slightly and you think that maybe you're going to stop burning candles at 1 am when every bad memory comes into your room to haunt you.
Maybe you can be your own candle instead of living off of the yellow light of broken memories, they never really helped you see.
Candles burn and wax melts but nothing is as enduring as the human heart.