It was a surprise, a hope long ago buried. Pulled out only in desperation to glance at in the darkest deepest hours. Errant ideas long ago abandoned as childish and foolish and unachievable.

Yet as I glance across the way, there you stand.  Quietly watching, waiting. Who is supposed to make the first move: the one hoping or the one watching?

The air is suddenly hot, it becomes difficult to breathe. The wick has cooled and the flame should not ignite after the long vacuum-less time.

What damage was done in the long silence?

The clock slows and the din of noise disappears. Time has blown out the flame.  The smile reignites the flame.

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