A Two-Colored Brocade

Sometimes I burn like a
candle from expectation;
sometimes I weep like a
spring cloud.
You see the candle's
radiance and are happy,
but you don't see the fire
at its head.

It's one of the things which you wouldn't notice normally, something which you live with day by day, but you just sort of ignore its being there. Just like the air, so evident yet so transparent. You wouldn't see it unless it's coloured or pressurized. When you leave the library and walking down the hill towards the parking lot at around 2245 with 18 books in your arms and less than 2 months till the deadline you feel what you've always known, that you are by yourself.