The clock turned to the candlestick one night and said:
“The trick is passively reminding them they’ll only last a moment, surreptitiously insinuating that I haven’t moved by moving slowly so that they won’t notice til an hour’s passed, or maybe more. It’s just too much intensity, your incessant conflagration. It’s far too loud a broadcast when we’re trying to be subtle and obscure the fact we never stop relieving them of what they find so precious. But then again, I must admit I envy that your message seems so optimistic, all the light you give and such. It’s as if they don’t quite realize that what you really do is consume, that what you’re truly up to is a slow but certain extinguishing of light. ”

The candle burned in silence through the evening, shedding no light on the subject but listening nonetheless attentively to the clock’s opinionated treatises, painting shadows on the walls of anything within its sphere. Just in front of dawn it staggered once or twice, letting all its shadows sag as it grew weary of sustaining them. Then all at once the candle ceased to burn, a little tarn of wax already drying all around it in no particular arrangement. Not a shadow stood at all, only blindness til the sun rose up to make the shadows all again.

#paris #pantheon #france

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