brusque and impatient

She was brusque and impatient with me in the daylight, putting me on edge the whole day, but in the middle of the night, after we had slept (or I had tried to), when all was quiet and dark, she reached for me and held me close, and all my frustration and anger, all my overalertness and fear and hurt melted away, and I remembered, in every cell of my body, how much I love her, and why, what she has given me, what she is giving me, what gifts of mine I know she still treasures...

It wasn't enough: the next morning everything was wrong again; neither of us could say a thing without raising suspicion in the other, and within a few moments we were both angry and dismayed once again. I tried everything, from full-out frankness, which exhausted us both, to silent acceptance of whatever happened, which maybe was worse, at least for me. In any event, everything we did or said drove us further apart than ever.

How did it happen? One sharp exchange seemed to vaporize all our earlier trust and affection, but looking back on it I couldn't understand how a single gruff retort of mine to a perceived complaint of hers was able to wreak so much damage on our easy peace of mind. But it was undeniable that before it everything was fine and since then nothing is.

My candle burned down to nothing and went dark. I lit a new one, but it immediately went out: it looked as if there wasn't enough wick, and what was there was frayed. I lit it again, pressing the match against it until my fingers burned and the match went out. But the wick continued to glow, a tiny dot of white-yellow at its very end. I stood, not moving, unwilling to breathe, unable to resist the thought that the fate of the flame would somehow be prophetic for us. For the longest time, the flame grew not at all, but stayed steady at near-nothing, until the wax around the wick melted an opening, and overflowed, and with that the candle brightened and came to life.