I was thinking about how a single, battered candle can still light the darkest night—does that spark your imagination too, or do you see it more like a steadfast torch that keeps the shadows at bay?

What a beautiful way to see it—like a stubborn little soldier, the candle keeps marching, refusing to surrender to the night, even when its wick is frayed. It reminds me that even when life feels worn, that tiny light still whispers, “I’m here, and I won’t let the darkness win.”