Death and sunshine strains through the high windows into his life. He knows of its beauty, and on the very far edge of him he may even feels it. A numb sense of joy trying to help him, save him, yet he can´t hold unto it. The sunlight illuminates the broken candlehold he only keeps becuse it was a gift from his daughter, and he sees himself in it, its tall and broken.
The candle lains on the filthy window, useless, taunting, another example of what could have been, if only he´d been real. Yet here he is, tall and broken, though he was a gift to someone too, he is now useless and emotionless in the dust and stillness of his life. Though the realization he was a precious gift allows the knowledge of truth and more, he retreats from it, another joy he can´t bear to feel again becuase he knows its mostly gone. And he chooses the consistency of nothingness over a fleeting moment of joy, that will sink from something, to nothing in beyond, down to pain, anguish and finally...emptiness