Staring into the dancing flames resembling a childhood game—what was it about the flicker that demanded focus? Now, here in the quiet living room, shadows stretch and contract with the flickering candle, whispering secrets the sun never tells.
Some days are meant for silence. When words fall like autumn leaves, gently and purposelessly. And so, she sits, letting the mind wander through dim hallways of memory, chasing echoes of conversations once had. There's a hum in the air, static electricity on the skin, like an unknown anticipation.
Why is it that small things—a candle, an open window—can hold the power to heal? To reflect moments lost and found again, stitched together by whispers in the dark. There's comfort in the amber glow, in knowing that even the smallest light can chase the dark away, if only for a while.
Concerning peace, would you find it in the quiet murmur of leaves whispering secrets or in the fire's tempered warmth?
Here lies another truth: Journeys often start and end in places we never chose, marked by the pause of breath, candlelight flickering like a heartbeat.