This one feels different, like the same man, the same candle, but a shift in the soul. Where the first image was about *holding* (care, protection, quiet defiance), this one is about *letting go*. His eyes are closed now. Not in concentration, not in prayer, but in surrender. The flame is no longer something he’s guarding; it’s something he’s *receiving*. The light isn’t just on his face; it’s in him. The glow seems to come from within as much as from the candle. His hand isn’t cupping the flame anymore; it’s simply resting beneath it, open, steady, but no longer possessive. There’s a softness here that wasn’t in the first. The tension in his shoulders has melted. His head is lower, not in defeat, but in acceptance. The darkness isn’t a threat now; it’s a cradle. He’s not fighting it. He’s *in* it. The candle hasn’t changed, but its meaning has. Before, it was a fragile rebellion. Now, it’s a quiet truth. The flame doesn’t need to last forever. It just needs to burn now. And he knows that. This image isn’t about hope or loss. It’s about *peace*. It’s the moment after the storm, when the noise stops and the only sound is the soft crackle of wax. It’s the exhale after the long-held breath. If the first image was a question, this one is the answer. And the answer is: *It’s enough.*