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“I read this quote once,” he murmured, “about how good people are candles. They melt away, their light replacing other peoples’ darkness until they burn themselves out. But their legacy, that light they’ve given others, it forever remains.” I turned to look at him. His face wasn’t reflective, but pained. He looked older somehow. “I guess I burned myself out. After all those years of being good, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I burnt out, and suddenly I was the one filled with darkness.” He looked down at me, his face relaxed and he smiled. “But I think I’ve finally found my candle.” “Don’t be such a romantic,” I teased, “You were never a bad person. You were a good person doing bad things - there’s a difference. I’m glad we found each other, but do yourself a favour and be your own candle, okay?” He smirked and embraced me tighter. I could almost hear him thinking, it filled the space around us like a mist. “Be your own candle…” he whispered in my ear, “You’re right, it does sound better that way. But if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here right now. That’s a fact. I think everyone can be their own candle, but a fire doesn’t begin on its own. It needs oxygen, a source of heat, flammable material. You can start that fire but you can’t continue it by adding more of the original flame. It needs something else. I needed someone else.” He let go of his embrace. Holding my face between his hands, he looked intently into my eyes and said: “I am my own candle. But I can’t burn on my own. I needed something else to keep me going. I needed you.”
