The calm trail of smoke from the extinguished candle, dancing through the air, bold, untethered.
It fills the room with the scent of beeswax and forgotten times.
The shadow of the smoke plays across the wall, curling gracefully in a sort of distorted mirror of the real thing, similar but not quite right.
The smoke and the one remaining lit candle are my companions as I stretch my neck in the silence.
My back aches and my fingers cramp and yet the candle burns on. The scent of the smoke lingers in the air, tickling the back of my throat.
Not enough to cough. But enough to annoy.
I blow out the remaining candle. Relishing the quiet sadness the darkness brings.