The Flame

A flame is drawn in my mind. Its delicate glow rests on the wick of the candle you lit with a sweet kiss on that Sunday afternoon.

It hasn’t been long since that happened and it’s still too early to know if the flame will withstand the lash of the wind, the rain and the harsh trials that destiny has in store for it.

Tonight I saw that flame, I saw it bend, twist, draw strength from itself and turn around upon itself, consuming everything around it. The wax turned against the flame and enclosed it in a delicate blue crystal box. The flame ceased to exist and dissolved into the reflections of that precious box whose edges emit the heat of its fire, which still burns on.

Through each window that appears from the box in all directions, one can observe the flame burning that has ceased to exist, for its essence has spread beyond reality, beyond possibilities, beyond the universe and beyond existence itself.


It is the flame of our love that you lit with a sweet kiss on that Sunday afternoon. It is a flame that burns in me without burning, that illuminates without dazzling, a flame that has ceased to exist, for existence itself is not enough to contain it.

Take this delicate crystal box with you and contemplate the beauty of its flame, for I have it with me.

Only one box exists and there is no flame in it.