A story

I don’t know why I noticed it tonight, sitting there on my windowsill. I have no idea what compelled me to take any interest in it; and yet, there I was staring at the unlit candle in my window. It was blue, in the moonlight, with a pattern of squares pressed into it. One might say it was all-together unimpressive. Tonight was a cold night with a clear sky, and it seemed to me that the candle was gazing at the stars with an odd sort of longing. I, in my bed, covered in flannel sheets, could not begin to understand what a candle could possibly long for as it faced a clear night sky; but this did stop me from pondering it. After a bit of thought, it became apparent to me that the stars were ignoring the candle, purposefully paying it no interest, and that the new moon had its back turned from it, denying it even the smallest recognition. Yet the candle stared outward just the same.
It had to have been there before, I thought, but having never had to close my curtains I suppose I had just forgotten about it. I never simply noticed it. But tonight for some reason it stood out in my mind and dominated my consciousness. The candle had never known any fire. It had never felt the silky tongues of a flame. No, it stood tall and straight, clean and pure. But I knew the candle felt no pride in its posture…it had never done anything but stare outward. Why was the candle there in the first place?
“Candle, candle, with no fire you stand silent and steadfast, not a barrier against the darkness, cold, and fear, but a part of it.” The words fell from my lips without reason. But the candle paid them no mind. Instead, it was begging for me an action. And then suddenly I realized why the candle was there. It had been a gift from an old friend…not so old at the time. It was a parting gift from Chris to me, given when I left to start my first job, many years ago. I scarcely remember his face…but I remember his home. He used to light his home with candles in the evening and we would spend the nights laughing among the flickering lights and the smell of melting wax and sandalwood. I remember the candle now and how he gave it to me on my last day back home…to remember the good times. I set it in my window, as people often do, and paid it no more mind.
I don’t know what called my attention to it, but my candle on the windowsill, a gift from a friend as true as I ever had, was begging to be lit. I knew now that as it stared at the stars each night it was longing to show them its own light…even if it meant feeling the heat of a flame, losing its perfect posture, and gradually diminish. Who would have guessed I had been neglecting my candle?
But I did not move from my bed to light the candle. It was a cold night and the matches were in the kitchen. Instead I lay there and wondered; how long had the candle been waiting to be seen? How long had I let my candle simply collect dust? Candles cannot burn without first being given a fire to hold and I had never thought to give it one. It was just sitting there, night after night, waiting for the biggest candle of all to rise and taunt it with what it could never make… As I drifted off to sleep, glad to not have to face the candle anymore, I wondered if it would ever even light at all.
The next morning I shut the curtains.