I lit a small candle in my room. Not for a romantic evening. Not for a holiday. Not even to scent the air. Just to have a small, living fire beside me. It flickered gently in the silence. I had nowhere to go that day, and nothing urgent to do.
I had been overwhelmed. Frozen by anxiety. Stuck in endless thought loops. The moment I lit the candle, something softened. My eyes returned to the room. I became present. A primitive warmth entered me — the feeling of not being entirely alone.
This little flame did not solve my problems. But it gave me a tiny anchor. It spoke without words. And in some quiet way, it reminded me I still had the strength to move.
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