Our lives are like a candle in the wind.

Candle In The Wind.

Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.

She was like a candle in the wind... unreliable.

Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.

The wind forgets. It will always forget as it never stays still long enough in one place for a memory to remain. A flame is the same. It flickers as though the memory is a painful one causing distress that needs evicting. It is only in that which is solid can a memory exist until it chiselled away by time. And there we have it; the longer we spend in reminiscing the more chance it is for the wind to extinguish the flame!

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