Written by Erin Roux

      My thoughts are molded into the wax candle that I bought you at the summer market for your birthday in November. That same day I bought a little succulent plant that wasn’t supposed to die but died a month later, a toe ring that made my foot itch, and a sunflower with a multitude of petals that didn’t last the ride home.

      I think about that one day when you screamed at me and pulled at your hair and called me a slut and I walked outside and hugged my body and sat in the brown grass and I picture you lighting the candle and breathing in the thick wax smell and feeling the warmth on your red cheeks.


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