I think I explained what I wanted to explain.

I'm fuelled by fire and my flame is ever changing.

I wish I could paint what I'm trying to explain, or at least use hand actions, but I will try my best to express meaning through words.

My friends are lost, and hurting. All of them I feel, are longing for the days where life wasn't so complicated. Where pinky promises were an unbreakable vow; where you knew what you wanted to be and saw no flaw in your plan; where everyone you cared about were in one, tiny little town; and where when you jumped, you ended up flying.

My friends are lost and scared and my heart goes out to them. My tea-light candle flame turns in with empathy, and flicks up with hope.

"I'll help them! I'll help them and I'll show them the light and they'll be happy and feel good and I'll feel oh so good with them!"

So I hike up my advice pants and lay it on them. I give them every word I've got. Every metaphor and simile, every pure thought I have in my head, I give.

But they turn away as if they hadn't heard a thing and my flame shrinks in the bitter cold.

The problem with being a generous soul.

"But they're tortured!" I think, "They're sad and tortured and their minds are corrupt with feelings of grief! Their walls are up, and the curtains are drawn. I just have to break through! I can break through to them!" my flame burns brighter, and dances on the wick with newly found optimism and determination as I try again.

I try and I try and I try again.

Words, words, words.

(Maybe there's a lesson here?)

And I begin to feel frantic. My flame is beginning to creep away, slowly losing control. I'm here, I'm there. I'm putting these words with those words. I'm distraught with continued trial and errors; desperately trying to solve the puzzle.

No one is listening and my flame is burning like the firebox of a freight train accelerating towards an unfinished track.

Hope, hope, hope. You can do it, you can do it, you can do it. Break. Through. The walls.

But again, nothing.

My flame calms in realization, but immediately after turns into hell fire.

MY PASSION IS ROARING AND I WANT THEM TO HEAR WHAT I HAVE TO SAY.

I WANT THEM TO LISTEN.

I WANT THEM TO GET BETTER.

WHY CAN'T THEY SEE HOW LUCKY THEY ARE TO HAVE SOMEONE WHO CARES SO MUCH ABOUT THEM? HOW COME THEY DON'T REALIZE WHAT A BLESSING IT IS TO NOT BE ALONE?

LISTEN TO MY WORDS.

BE HAPPY.

LET YOUR HEART THAW.

My fire burns with intensity, passion, and love. I want to shake them or slap them in the face; slap them into reality.

You see, my heart, my flame, is soft and eager. It wants to warm everyone who's close, everyone who gathers 'round. I want to be your sunshine.

But they have placed me on a wick, in the corner of the room.

Out of sight, out of mind.

And there will be no one to notice,

No one around me,

When I burn,

Out.

- Mint.