A few feet away from me, there is a candle burning on each side of a dozen burnt-orange roses. It is nighttime, and there is the slightest but strongest smile humming across my lips. Tomorrow starts a new day with a new adventure I am embarking on that that makes the light inside of me shine even brighter.
Today, in between duties, I researched parts of the timeline of the novel I have been reading. I will admit that, if one is going to write semi-historical fiction, they can't just make the timeline up. They can't plop an un-feared case of Tuberculosis here, or a chronologically nonsensical reference to the writing of Horacio Quiroga there. It comes across as a fragile and overly-inflated intelligence. Rather, it comes across as the insecure huffing of anyone desperate to appear smart. I don't like it. It irritates me in its errors, and I would rather they just tell a good story.
My body is humming now, so I must go. It is the brilliance of the candles, and the scent of ylang ylang mixed with palo santo in the air. Palo santo. I haven't forgotten you. Even now.
be well; be loved,
k.
(image: Andrea Pompilio SS16)
