A match flares.
A hiss. A spark.
A candle flickers
The darkness is softened
I cup the light in my hands. The flame is like a tiny dancer. She bends and quivers in the cold wind. She twists and shivers and stoops low. She recoils from the snow. She flinches from the storm. She almost dies as the demons of the night blow hard and cruel. Without mercy.
Yet I protect her, defend her, nurture her, shield her.
I guard her, shelter her, screen her, secure her.
I hold her close to my chest, near to my heart. I whisper my own private prayers to her. I carry her home. I find her a safe haven away from harm.
I place her in the window so you can see her dancing.
A candle is burning.
She is burning for you.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art stolen from Ameyama