The challenge is not to blow out the fire. The fire should only shiver, shiver as if in need of the flames of another fire. And the candles should never weep. They should have wounds but never scars. And before you gather your storm, words must wake, happiness must season voices, a group of lungs melting into a chorus of one. The wish needn’t be wrapped in wrapping paper either. No, the wish should undress itself until its clothed only in the flickering light. And as the darkness falls gray should rise, fumes fragranced by the scent of your younger selves. See, the challenge is not to blow out the fire; it is to convert that fire into smoke.

(This piece was published by The Bookends Review here. Send your work there if you’re interested in publishing.)