Candle in the Sunlight

There are many times when we have to remember our inner light.
It's that little candle that sits behind your diaphragm and burns pleasantly, perpetually, content to be what it is and never harm anybody. It's the light that glows out through our eyes when we remember it, but only when we remember it. You have to open your eyes a certain way for it to escape: a little wider, but it's not out of amazement. It's a sense of being awake, vigilant, ready to greet anything and anyone with your little light. It smiles humbly, but you yourself know better.1

It was one of these candle times. It was a brilliant, shining day that could laugh at anything, even at a popsicle wrapper on the steaming asphault. It was one of those summery days that made me think of when I was small, a flash of white sneakers and basketballs and sprinklers. Everything was bright and flashy and exciting and I was sure I didn't need some imaginary candle inside my abdomen. But it was one of those candle times.2

He was there. Then, he always was. His bike was smaller than mine like his frame was smaller than mine, and it was green like his whole aura. I was in love with green.
We biked along like two eight-year-olds playing husband and wife. We made each other laugh and ripped apart leaves and ate popsicles. It was a whirlwind of make-believe, of bright colors and cartoon characters and extra-long jumpropes.
The sun began to shine grey and yellow and white all at once as it got later. The world smelled like charcoal grills and hamburgers. My feet were tired. Husband and wife was a fun game. But it needed a twist.3

"We can't be together anymore."4

And the rainclouds came and put out the grill fires and made the hot asphault sizzle a little. The popsicle wrappers we left behind were probably getting wet. If I could have seen them, I'm sure they would have seemed very funny. Well, the sun and I would have laughed.5

Somehow, though, no one was laughing. He wasn't laughing, so no one was. Had I said something wrong; did I break the rules? Wasn't this make-believe?
He stared and stared. His green aura was blue and red, but never purple. I missed the green. I loved the green.
Suddenly, I heard a flurry of words, like the drone of a bee. I knew I should have listened, but I had no cue to listen for. I wasn't on a stage; this was make-believe. There went the words; there went his heart; there went the bikes and the popsicles and the laughing and-6

"But if that's what you want, fine."7

His small frame on his small bike pedaled away. I watched until he was a little pixel on my eyes' screen. It was right. Our game got old. The day was over. We could play again tomorrow.8

But there was no tomorrow. My head knew that and worried. My heart knew that cried.
But my candle knew it, and it brightened. It brightened and brightened until it burst out through my eyes. My eyes were only watering from the heat of it. My soul danced and danced while my flame bounced from puddle to puddle and chased the short rain to the east.9

My flame was alone, but it was mine.
I needed it.
It mattered.