sandalwood candle.

of Justin Hamilton

It is past midnight and you are out here, somewhere far from my reach, but still around the neighborhood. Perhaps riding your bent bicycle, I am not sure. But you gaze at the stars, chin up to avoid the tears from plummeting to your cheeks (yet they still do), counting the endless lights above. Tonight, you do it without my presence, but we will feel well afterwards.

So I light up the candle on the bedside table. Remember this sandalwood scent? You wore it when you moved in with me. And I do not tell you this, but I only take the candle out when you storm out at night without a reason or after a small argument. Along with the dance of the flame, I pray for your safety, that may you always find your way back to me. But I still live in the constant fear that one day you will just disappear.

Tonight, I clutch my fingers and close my eyes. I picture you in the holy night of your own dilemmas, with your lost eyes and exhausted sighs. In the sea of the stars and outside the earth, up to the galaxies where our home lies. All throughout of this, my hands around your heart.

I move my lips to whisper the prayers driven by faith and fear. If, by any chance, the winds carry my message to you, please bring to me all your sorrows and let me bear the half while we solve the rest.


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.

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