As I walk into the room, I do not reach for the light switch, I do not want the light that can easily be turned off and on with ease. That light is not real, that is not pure. I walk past the switch, and over to the dresser and pick up a brand new candle, and I unwrap the candle and put it in a crystal candle holder, where it looks beautiful.

I light the candle and bask in the flicker of the living flames, the flames that exist only for me, the wild flames that cannot be controlled by a simple flick of a switch. I pick this light because it is real, it needs attention, I did not want convenience, I did not want something I would just take for granted, I have learned to appreciate the romantic candlelight. The specific light from the specific candle that only I can have. The light is special and mine alone.

And I close my eyes and go to sleep with the warmth of my candle, the warmth that a light switch could never give me, the comfort that I cannot find in superficial things.

puppy.