She sits at the kitchen table in silence, watching the wilted petals of the once vibrant pink rose fall from the dry carcass of a stem. A chill races through her spine but she thinks nothing of it; as if she doesn’t feel it; as if she can’t feel it. All her mind is caught on the irregularity of her heart beat as she pulls each breath into her lungs. Suddenly, she is aware of the silence of the dark room. She just stares at the shell of a flower, still waiting for life to return. The darkness soon consumes her thoughts. She stands, lights the candle with no color, no scent, no nothing, it was just a candle; then she sits. The small light barely breaks through the darkness, just what she wanted; no, needed. She watches the twisted candle flames play with each other, entranced in their elegance and power, longing to reach out and touch them. But she was trapped. The world continues without her, it turns, it moves, it breathes, it grows, without her. She sits at the kitchen table in silence, watching the wilted petals of the once vibrant pink rose fall from the dry carcass of a stem.