like a faithful lighthouse keeper who keeps the beacon lit for all the ships to return home, she puts her candle out every night. Every night she trims her candle and sets it in the window sill. Through rain, snow and the bitter cold the little beam lights the way for you to come home. She loyally clears the window of fog and frost so the flame can brighten your path. You always come home, to the door unlocked and hot tea awaiting you in the arms of your loving waiter.
One night she sets her candle out after sunset as always, wiping the late evening dew off the tattered window panes. She sits and waits staring out the window waiting for your shadow. None appears,hour after hour her eyes grow tired in the light of the fading candle, it melts dripping wax minute by minute a process she can not stop, she has no more candles. This is it you must come home.
Where could you be, what has kept you, have you abandoned her? Her hope fades with every drop of wax, will you not return? What will happen when her candle fades to black she worries how you will find your way back. As the candle burns into a stump your tea has grown as cold as her patience. She takes a last lookout for your shadow for a sign of your presence, opening the door she calls out your name to the darkness. It swallows her cries, she locks her door and weeps for she knows not how or if you will ever find her again....
