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Flickerings are but mere fragments of the stories the soul once retained, played out on the dimly lit walls. There's an awful lot to be said about whether or not those stories were good, bad or otherwise, but it helps to be indifferent when the eventual feeling of being haunted by the past descends. It soon became apparent to me that there wasn't anything in particular that would ease a troubled soul like mine. The candlelight sought only to appease the darkness of the night and it was not going to send me into a deep sleep. I could've argued all night with myself if I wanted to, but the life of a soul that lives by the night, the moon and the candlelight is a lonely one.


 

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