the candle

A candle sat on the table at the outdoor cafe. The wind blew softly, barely stirring the flame. Forks and knives tapped plates creating a different kind of music. The flame seemed to dance to it as though a memory were conjured forth. The quick flicker gave clue to this conjuring, this thing from the past that was remembered because it could be.

Did anyone notice the candle, with its sentient flame? Or did each person who passed through the outdoor cafe simply eat and talk, engrossed in their own memories, in their own past that would never recall this candle that had seen and heard many wondrous things.