Last night I waxed my past; I pulled my stories out from my clouded memories, and dumped them on bluish sheet of paper facing me. All I needed was the brightness of a flame, riding a candle, pouring into a soul more acute at night. I was worried about the pain, so I used a red wine based topical solution, just to numb fear.

The crack of dawn flanked a tired candle, a broken bottle and a piece of paper torn to bits. Tonight I’ll wax again.