“At first, me too.”
“And... what about our candles?” She asked and looked at the painting again, as if I weren’t even there with her.
“I thought… some have burned out,” I said and thought about all those days when she was avoiding me.
Her reaction surprised me. She quickly looked at me, and her shocked look fought with the confusion at the first.
“They haven't burned out,” she whispered with an unmissable amount of sadness.
Her voice was still so soft, even though it wasn’t probably supposed to be -sad and still good to hear. It was like her voice was a small garden where butterflies were going to die.
“I thought you will try more, you know?” She added.
I gave a step backwards, while I was keeping the eye contact, and intentionally made another mistake as I was leaving the open door
