Red Wax, Yellow Beauty

Leaning. Forever leaning and twisting with the air's movement. Red wax puddles beneath, weakened by the heat of the flame's desire. Higher, ever higher it reaches, straining against the wick that is both a source of life and a reminder of its imprisonment. All around, reflections of a vibrant, yellow beauty flicker on the circular glass. The wax spreads ever further, releasing a scent of cinnamon that mocks the flame's efforts as it drifts upwards to freedom. If the fire were to burn long enough, then the wax would vanish, the wick be consumed, and the glass crack under the its might. But it will not be long before I replace the lid, and that wondrous little flame will dim, turn smaller and smaller, then let out one last puff of smoke as it dies.