He was a fire. Bright, hot, all-consuming. He gave off heat that singed the icy edges around my heart. He was the sun that came out every day and lit up my world, swallowed the secrets hidden in the dark. All I ever could be was the moon that reflected his light. Some days full of his radiance, others just waning away. Day and night we followed the cycle. My night would bleed into his light and force it away for hours at a time, and he would never give up. But fires go out, consumed by water, or starved of oxygen. Even stars explode; the sun cannot last. I am stuck with my darkness, which lasts forever. He couldn’t give me his light for eternity, but he taught me how to build a fire of my own. He told me it’s not who I am in the dark, but who I am in the absence of it. As he left, I lit a candle.