Look what my candle did.
The weight on their shoulders was immense, but they had always carried on as if they weren’t over-encumbered. As if it was the Beforetime.
“We’ve got to live,” he said, his eyes focused on some far away point in the darkening horizon, “no matter how many skies have fallen.”
It was then,Toska Nabokov
in that whisper of a moment,
when she had no breath in her lungs,
that she realized–
she isn’t the hero of this story.