Roman Candles.

Burning burning'bright'.....the flame will go on forever..from yellow to amber to orange to red...towards her eyes...towards his eyes..showed her the light perhaps..burnt bright..
And happy? Yes, happy.
Seems like it... musing, why so much intensity to inflame themselves like Huxley's 'flaming Roman candles'?
Somehow it expected something different after so much work..
Moments like needles...prick..prick....Remember a time when you wouldn't even understand what I'm saying?

She shuts the door.... so close to the flame..No...You have to see. Were you really expecting an ally? .... The laughter...

She wonders if the tremor was too noticeable today. Did they understand the silence? She wonders incessantly and then she starts weeping. Maybe I could be in there too.
Anyways , life is dragging on like a lie...some good and lots of bad. Snatches of peace and disaster... All for a song. Ha.
She wrenches her eyes and she's back in the car. In the boulevard.
Some hotel room... the candles , again,... And the white poster bed. But something else was happening.
So delusionary to reach there today. Even when he wasn't really there.
She found out that the number doesn't exist. And neither does his name.
And then she remembers all that she did .... with the flames.









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