The Metaphor

Placed at the center of the room is a dimly flickering candle. It’s the only thing bringing me comfort in this very dark room. I take care in breathing as to not extinguish its flame, as even my voice shakes its elements. There must be more to my surroundings, if only I could see further. I dare not risk moving the candle to see more of the room. I am content with the light it gives me and the comfort from its light and warmth. But its light grows dim, it will not burn forever. As the wick burns slowly toward its end, the wax collecting at the base, the flame grows weak. Suddenly my realization that all is not well, I soon may be in the dark. Anxiety overwhelms me, my only company in the room to die, leaving me alone to my thoughts in the infinite darkness. The depth of the room grows shallow, the flame flicks its last glowing tail and sputters in the waxy puddle. Hope no longer seems sensible as my fears become rational. The one completeing and comforting element in my life now is extinct. This is my end, lost in the dark, alone with my sadness.