Write On Wednesday
'Notre Dame de Paris'
To the unknown past that lays behind, and holds its patrons close to heart.
Whimsical spatterings of light erupted from my footsteps, dancing beneath my trepid paces as the shadows shied away, retreating to their mass within the darkness as I watched. Consumed. The single flame rose from the wick steadily crafting its shape within the wax, hot drippings creeping from the melted pool.
To wonder at the murky stone that surrounded myself, what lives must have transcended this same thick tunnel, the long past flesh that filled these halls, such history to be forgotten. The loneliness of being left behind had been daunting, an old soul caught within a people who have abandoned such philosophical thoughts.
Can I not yet find a place here? The slender sickly guide to my sight continued to sweat profusely as the light hungers so, wavering against the damp drafts that journeyed with us. To have waited like so many before, I am grateful. The weary stump of wax is cast aside upon reaching the gateway to the open air, salvaging it from its imminent demise. To now share their fate by sealing my own by the steely resolve of the executioners blade, I am honoured.
May I finally rest upon the wooden block and feel this release in its finality.