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Every wick has a different path. Some straight through the centre, or off to the side. Some dipped too deep or off-angled in the wax. Every wick burns down to its last filament, alighting and warming until that final moment. Each one prepositioned to run its course. Sometimes stopping and starting, but ultimately stuck with the matter of time. Flames grow or diminish in relation to interactions of wick and the wax that surrounds, each second elapsing like none before or ever after.

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