Candles in the Dark

I don’t know what the punchline is to the knock-knock of his feet. I smoke a cigarette, nonchalant in my too big black blazer, imagining the dramatic silhouette of my profile, wondering if the next knock-knock footstep is going to stop right behind me and sweep me off my feet. I smoke more than I want and then I rise, my own feet sighing because he’s not coming tonight and now today was like any other day.

When I get back, she asks me about him. I tell her we’re very different. I tell her that’s why I like him. He’s not crazy but he doesn’t blink when I tell him of my crazy. He has no idea how crazy my crazy is. Not yet. I tell her that we are not the result of an explosion of destiny. I like that; every firework love of the past has been a disaster for my heart. This time, we are not fireworks. We are candles in the dark. From afar, warm, glowing lights, but, up close, smoldering heat.

I do not know how he fights or how he drinks his coffee but I like the way he smiles when my neuroses surface, and the fragility of his double-edged ego, and the way his hand always finds me.


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I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

14 thoughts on “Candles in the Dark”

  1. *sigh* I love the way you write – I love you man, seriously, what. a. poet. What a way you have with language, kind of like a snake charmer, but with words. p.s. you’re missing an ‘f’ in the last line.

    1. Thanks, dude. That means a lot to me, especially coming from you.

      PS:I’m also missing an M; it should be ‘a warm, glowing light’. I’m a terrible typo-ist!

  2. They’re all right, you know. You have a way with words that makes life read like a movie. Which I’m pretty sure is all that anyone is ever looking for.

    1. Haha, he asks me why I keep telling him I’m crazy when I’m obviously manageable. I just laugh; if he doesn’t want to pay attention to my warnings, there’s not much I can do about it!

      A toast to being crazy!

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