Her soul was a candle flickering in the palm of his hand
Slowly eating away at the wax until it was only the faint murmur of a flame
He ran across deserts and over mountains to try to find a safe place for this little candle
He constantly added wax, trying to rebuild it so it could feel powerful again
He cupped his hands together tightly, trying not to let the breeze slip between the cracks his fingers made
He tried his best, and so the story goes, his best happened to be just enough
The flame of the little candle grew under his protecting watch
It grew large enough to stand on its own, to fight the wind and the rain and the storms all by itself
The candle still needed him though
He provided more wax whenever it was needed, and stuck around to make sure his candle was alright
And she was.
Forever indebted to him, she stood as a beacon of hope for the hopeless, and a symbol of love for the lonely
Forevermore.