What a melting wax-like life this reality’s become. So big, so sturdy, so perfectly formed before the spark of life began its inevitable erosion. Such a smooth dribble down a candle’s side, as that of this life’s past, can only be described as infinite.
Though it did begin once, the beginning cannot be pinpointed and the end is as distantly unthinkable as an empty promise to a grandchild by a newborn baby. The flame has been consistent in that it has denied consistency a chance to place any particular pattern to the steps of its immortal dance. Yet, the lingering knowledge of the flame’s last flicker keeps it from dancing to any rhythm either too fast or too slow.
So with the mutation of the wax we call reality and the transformation of the very way we live, we learn that although the wax has burnt down from a tall candle to a level plain we can always melt it the way we want, so long as we still have our flame. Once our flame has passed, it’s the flames of the other lives that transform our true reality.
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