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it ends my life. yet starts the beginning. I can last for a long time, depending on the flame. the flame that destroys me may also destroy you, though i take the blame.

I cannot move. my life is to sit in a decorated place and sit. and wait. the taller i am the slower i've been dying. The flame engulfs me, but you just sit and watch as i slowly die. then, when you are done, you save me, half burned, mainly destroyed.

I am a romantic. and a destroyer. and a centerpiece for you to watch. My personality comes with my death, i suppose, for without my destruction, i am locked away, no use to you.

Sometimes i sit in glass, othertimes wood. the wood understands: someday, when you have no use for it anymore, you will throw it away. chuck it in the engulfing flame. I can feel it shiver as i die, and when the others die, for the flame is ever nearing it. but it has not burned. yet. The glass on the other hand, doesn't see it like i do. when my burned body drapes over it, it does not like it, but puts up with it, as it was made to do. whenever the flame gets closer to it, it's happy, for it was made by the flame, before, i could have been nothing. but now, it's as much of a centerpiece as i am.

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