I took the candle from my 
postage-stamp sized nightstand, 
cradling it between my hands 
and letting it guide me into 
my sister’s empty room. 

There was a better view of the stars
from her window than mine, and 
I could see the reflection of the 
candle flame in the window, all
orange and hot and repeating the 
same silly dance over and over again. 

But now the heat has disappeared:  
it snowed today, in the early morning –
the first snow, which brought such a 
fullness to my heart that I fear I could not 
explain it without bursting into tears 
(the kind of winter tears that fall slowly). 

I look back out the window. 

The stars are always much clearer 
when it’s cold out, I think. The air 
thins itself to make space for them. 

I sigh. Giving the stars one last 
reconciliatory look, I scoop up the candle 
and allow it to guide me once again, 
this time back to my own bed.