Wax first then the wicks

Perfect is imperfection spilled so passionately that it becomes impressive.

Love isn’t real love until it starts to become oppressive.

Sometimes things are short and sweet. Sometimes long and lasting.

If could hear my mind whispering you’d know precisely what I’m asking.

Riddle me no longer now, I’ve grown weary of these twists.

Candles burning inside out Wax first then the wicks.