In whispering shades of ash and rose a candle flares like a breath of hope, hands of shadow reach toward the flame, as if time itself pauses to listen.
A rose rests heavy with remembrance, its petals bearing the weight of longing, melted wax weeps slowly downward, a silent confession to the surface of night.
Matches wait, promise and danger entwined, money and fire caught in human grasp, between giving and taking the moment burns, an eternal flame in fragile hands.
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