I fear I’m losing myself. Everyday is a trial as I struggle to force some happiness, some meaning into what I have done for so long. The fire that burns inside of me seems to flicker with every obstacle that presents itself. I no longer have the strength to fan the flames, and instead pad on coatings of pity, hoping every day that this makeshift wax does not dribble off, allowing the slender weakness of the candle to be exposed.
There is little left for me to aspire to, and although I can not keep it burning, the flame seems to thrive when I arrive at the hearth and satisfy it with puerile tasks. Tasks which thrive on my own selfish desires. I live on, knowing that I am needed for my purpose, despite all the tortures which await me. Perhaps they are my penance for forsaking myself.
Within my soul, the tears I shed now pool, edging ever closer to being frozen as the candle dies. I know that in the midst of my darkest desires, there lies a match which can melt the frost, melt my anguish away. One day, this cold feeling will subside. One day, I will fight to tame the inferno rather than desperately shielding the sparks which remain. I fear this day more than the chill. Rather than being trapped in the glacier, I will burn, the blaze which warms my body threatening to set alight everything around me. Everyone around me. I am the candle, and I pray that soon I will melt away.