There is a light that shines no matter that the world trying to snuff it out. This light, flickering hopeful, fueled by sheer stubborn insistence that it wants to live, will listen to no wind or breath that says, “It’s over.”
The light wishes to live. It evades all truths that say otherwise.
There is a light that shines no matter that its days are doomed. It continues to reach for the sky and dance. It dodges attempts to put it out. It’s held by the love of those around it.
The wax melts. The wick shortens. We watch the flame.
The cancer grows. The light weakens. We watch the flame.
We tell a candle that it is time to burn out. That it cannot go on forever. That instead of spending its last months grasping at hope, dwindling in poison or searching for answers; we want to hold it in the dark. We want to cry tears with it as it fades. We want to say goodbye without fighting for air, with dignity.
We want the light to accept what is, what cannot be turned back. We want the light to stop fighting and live at peace with what is left. We want it to be at home, not fighting with tubes and pokers in a hospital.
How can we give up so soon on the light? How can we tell the light that we don't want it to fight anymore? It's not our place. It's selfish. We want our pain to stop, but what of the light's?
In the end, we can do and say nothing to change the light, to sway the light, or to fix the light. All we can do is watch and hold it high. Let it shine as long as it can in the way it wants. The light holds the flame. The light lets it go.
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