The vanilla breaths of a scented candle were enough to drench me in a grace-filled haze – it stroked my melancholic verses and head for my hands to write and lips to speak. For my birthday this week, I had asked you to wrap one box of it with a cream-colored paper, just to match the accent.
The suppleness of your lips etched its memories upon my thirsty pair as you kissed me. I knew you would get one for me.
I had come home two hours early – I wanted to wrap my arms around your hips as you cooked my favorite pasta dish. I parked my car and my lightning smile struck the rear view mirror as I checked myself out – if my hair was out of place or just a reassurance that I looked good enough for your tongue.
I went inside – the lights were on – and called for your name; I received cold air. My brows furrowed as I scanned the empty kitchen, living room, and dining room. I trekked upstairs and open the bedroom.
Our bed sheets were tangled, our lampshade in the corner was on, and our bedside drawers were open. Someone had been here. I slowly pushed my feet to walk until I noticed my brother’s watch on top of the drawer beside a…candle.
The strong, sweet flavor of vanilla wafted around the air. Somehow, a little raven drifted across my constricting lungs as I realized that the candle’s wick looked as if it was freshly blown out.
WORD COUNT: 253
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.