When I first met you, my cranberry-scented candles stood tall on my bedside table. Thick red cylinders of fruity scent, waiting to be lit and burned for 40 hours.

When you first slept over you wanted to sleep with them burning, and though I didn’t want to waste my precious wicks, for you I let them blaze all night and we slept in their glow.

And now they are puddles, melted and re-melted wax bent and sticking to the tabletop, and our bodies have learnt each other’s shape as we melt and re-melt into each other each night.