She holds her hand over the candle flame a bit too long because some part of her enjoys the burn

We all have something like this
Some form of self-flagellation
Bad habits and vices
Leftover childhood insecurities never remedied
Half-finished letters, novels, relationships
Conversations hanging in midair
We love the wrong people
Eat the wrong things (the French never think about this)
We embrace the fear
Wrap ourselves in it like a warm blanket on a cold night
And tell ourselves the whole time we hate it
Somehow we find it easier to limp along
And carry fear in stylish bags
Because we think broken is beautiful
And so it is
But there is beauty in every moment
The long line of a woman’s arm extended
Holds grace and possibility
And even shards of shattered glass
Find light and reflect it
Even shards of shattered glass
Aspire, hope
They needn’t always cut