Image via Pixabay from Pexels

 

A thin stream of smoke rises from the match,

twisting towards the ceiling.

 

Relief rushes her head.

But her stomach continues to churn,

moving too fast to calm now.

 

The harsh burning smell

covers the lavender candle scent.

 

She succeeded, she tells herself,

reminds herself.

But memory stings.

Leaving her old home did not stop the reminiscing.

 

The flame flickers.

The wick burns.

 

Images of the past invade her vision,old feelings fill her veins,she relives them,she relishes them,they

demand to be remembered.

 

It’s only when the purple candle wax pools

that the smell of lavender permeates the room,

chasing away the bitter burning.

Poetry

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