The pink sweet-pea-scented votive sits on a round glass dish. I lit the clean, white wick until the flame caught. The flame stretched upward, lengthening itself to reach higher, while the wick underneath started turning black. I began to wonder if I could reach higher with my writing, if I could stretch to attain higher goals now, before the blackness sets in. The candle began forming a small pond of hot wax. I blew out the flame and watched a trail of smoke extinguish. Then I touched the liquid wax which quickly dried and hardened, and I peeled this smooth, pink wax off of my index finger.