A quiet light. Flowers arranged, a candle lit, Beethoven playing low — and nothing to be but here.
A flicker, a breath, and a little warmth.
My candle lives here — soft blush label, steady flame, and the scent of something quiet and kind.
Tea cooling. Beethoven violin sonatas floating over with the breeze. A book half-read. Morning light slipping across the floor.
No rush, no noise.
Just time to be, to soften, to stay — one slow burn at a time.