Hi, I’m Xinyi.

The world runs fast, and faster every day,
with inboxes that never learn to sleep;
so much gets bought, then quietly thrown away,
so little made by hands, and made to keep.

I light a flame the size of one small thought,
I fold a quiet corner into place;
the wax remembers what the hurry forgot:
that evenings have a scent, and hours a grace.

A gift means more when someone poured it slow,
when care is in the wick and in the name;
the sweetest things are small, and warm, and low:
a morning stretch, a cup, a candle flame.

So here is calm you can hold in your hand,
made slowly, sent with love, from where I stand.