Sometimes I feel as if I am standing in a narrow hall, alone. I feel strange, a feeling I cannot remember ever feeling before. Somewhat like confusion and detachement mixed together with a strange new fear of the darkness. In my hand I imagine a candle in an old bronze holder, one with a wide base to catch the wax that falls so much like tears, and the large loop attached for easy handling. Something out of my childhood, something that I always saw upon the shelf in my old house, my old memories. And now this relic from those days past is keeping the darkness at bay, keeping an island of light about my body. Within this pool of light I stand, with wide eyes, and I cannot make my body respond to the thoughts I send to it. Immobile I stand while the darkness ever shifts, awaiting the time when the candle will fail and the light begin to dissapear. But as I stand there, I feel a presence, and can see a shadow falling into my pool of light, the only darkness which seems to dare enter the protective light. I try to peer through the darkness, to see to whom the shadow may belong to, because yes, I know it is human. But the light prevents me from seeing, the light shielding me from the truth. I am too afraid of the darkness to extinguish my lifeline from the days gone by. And then the feeling fades, and I am left to my normal feelings, the ones that cannot be explained by words or picture, and whose meaning I cannot begin to grasp.
