the notion of a 'favourite'

something i wrote about love. but pay it no mind, let it be what you wish.

tonight i was feeling particularly curious, pretentious even.

tonight i wanted to do something deliberately.

tonight i wanted to pay attention to the little things, simple things. though nothing is ever really simple, is it? therefore this needs to be captured and in teenage girl fashion that means;

1) opening up laptop

2) hitting record on photobooth

3) half-assed visit to the notes app

4) blog post.

“this is my favourite candle.” i say, holding up said candle to the camera with a grin.

when i took the time to look at what was in my hands i made out a thin layer of dust sitting on its surface, and one ring of wax with little depth indicting its lack of use. a present i got on my sixteenth birthday. sentimental value has a funny way of seeping into simple things.

“but this is my favourite candle, the best smelling one.” i said and took a sniff as if to prove some kind of point, as if awaiting the approval of an audience. i am; above all, a thespian.

to the left of me, a sea of candles burnt for hours on end seemed to glare at me with a chill distaste at what i had just thought. 

“i am your favourite. you burnt me the most, you changed me, you used me until i was unrecognisable!” though buried by what little wax was left, i felt the wicks were going to rise from their ashes as a phoenix would to pull me in by the neck and commence any further scolding.

though they raised an important question. how was i able to make such a claim of this candle being my favourite, if i didn’t even love it enough to see it through all the change? would i finally get tired of having to shove my hand into the glass to light it when it reached its final days? would watching the wax slowly melt down into nothing seriously pain me?

i question the need for this preservation of mine and wonder why my prettiest dress has only been worn twice

tonight i wonder what i might have done to find something that managed to transcend all of this. someone that was that glittery thing, the proclaimed ‘favourite’ and yet a constant. even when it’s gone you can remain wilfully ignorant to it’s poignancy, and smile much to your chagrin.

i think it’s not supposed to be forever. i think that’s why we can call it precious.