Vidal's Verse

I am still haunted by memories and feelings that should have long ago passed. The problematic curse of an almost perfect memory. Do I remember the days perfectly or do I remember her as being perfect?

These are just stories told poetically. This is a place for my words to live. Some lead good lives and others not so much. I would call these Poetic Stories. 

The Life and Imminent Death of a Candle

She told me that I had ruined her surprise she had in store for me. As my mind reeled with the wondrous possibilities she cut me off mid thought as if she knew my imagination was going nowhere, or at least nowhere decent, and said it was a gift. She is like me in that she loves giving people gifts but hates being around when they open them. So when later that day she handed me an official looking bag with the decorative paper sticking out of the top, as if it were yelling out “Pull here, the gift is not me but below me!”, she walked away briskly and left me standing and smiling for no one but myself. I met her at the couch and looked inside, I wasn’t about to let a perfectly good smile go to waste. Inside was a pomegranate candle, which according to its sticker would burn for sixty hours and was hand poured. It was a great gift because I would always be looking at those candles and remarking on how the pomegranate smelled the best and she would always agree, as if it were a new conversation with new information being brought to light. At first it was placed in the bathroom, which surprisingly she was fine with, but I didn’t think it proper since it was a gift for me and I was going to use it selfishly. It was not community property and the bathroom is a community place. You may be asking then why put it there in the first place? It wasn’t me who did it, but rather my mother after she had found it and asked about it. Maybe she doesn’t understand gifts, or sentimental value, but I do know that something having both of those qualities does not belong in a vile place like a bathroom. The bathroom is a place where you put a candle bought specifically for that place, not something with meaning. I relocated it to my bedroom night stand where it will no doubt live out the rest of its days. Now that I’m on the tail end of the sixty hours the candle claims to live, I haven’t timed it because I’m a trusting person, I start to think about all the things I have done in the light and scent it emits. Mostly reading by candle light in bed, some talking on the phone, some writing, some mourning, and a good amount of sleeping. But the things that stand out most are the ones we did together in its presence, even though it was the least amount of time out of all the rest. The day she gave it to me was a Friday, and we stayed in watching TV when we first brought the candle to life. I remarked on how we are already old and boring since we chose to spend our Friday eating dinner and watching TV immersed in the glow of a candle cuddled up on the couch. It doesn’t sound like much fun but when put into context with the other activities it was something great, even without the context it was something great. Now that I run the risk of being a single parent to a candle that’s about to die I wonder how I will get by once it is gone. Is it kosher to buy a new candle the day your old one dies? If not how will I read? Or more importantly how will I remember that lazy Friday night? When nothing else mattered but to be immersed with that new born candle light, with her hand in mine, as if to say “Now you see, this candle is a gift to the both of us.”

All rights reserved and all that bullshit.