The Girl Whose Candles Never Blow Out
She Whose Candles Light When She Walks In
Light follows me, not the other way around.
I keep no clock, only the slow turning of light and dark. My home breathes with the hush of old pages and the memory of rain. I do not summon the flame, nor do I question it. It is simply how things are. I listen to the silences between sounds, the ones that tell you more than words ever could.
What I'm Into: the hush before a storm, cracked leather spines, candlelit corners, the weight of stillness, tea gone cold
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