Warm Memories

The wick was charred and worn from far too many demands to glow. No one can capture the sun in there hand all the time. She slowly stroked the metal wheel, allowing the rough bumps to caress her soft skin. The sky dotted with birds was forced to crash into the sea with a flick of her wrist. Her father never sailed a majestic ship such as this. A lighthouse never led him home from journeys on a sea he’d only ever seen in pictures. Oh, how she’d love to burn herself to bits and scatter herself within that scene; to ramble up a winding path and dive off of that cliff into the rough argument of the waves. With a thrash of the of the wheel, no flame greeted her. Her father extinguished the sun hidden beneath the ship’s deck. She was left cold.