
I have always been terribly afraid of fire.
Always making sure I shut down any possibilities for it.
Always worrying if I really did and coming back to double, triple, quadruple check it.
I’m afraid of losing everything to fire, always thought it’d be the most terrible way of that happening.
I see how fire is destructive.
But every time I watch it, I think it’s a beautiful thing.
I see it burning, tearing apart, destroying until there’s absolutely nothing.
And I think to myself: this is cruel. But incredibly beautiful.
I feel the same for the sea. But the sea calms me down, makes me humble and thoughtful.
The fire is there only to be awed. I can never touch it.
I look at it and the closer I get the more I feel pain. It can be warm, cozy, comfortable at a safe distance, but I can never ever touch it.
I believe your air is just there to fuel that fire and make it grow greater with every blow. Like this huge bonfire in the coldest night of the year.
I can’t be away from you or I’ll freeze to death but I can’t get too close or you’ll burn me down and destroy me until there’s absolutely nothing.
I am terribly afraid of the fire. I watch it. Crackling and screaming. I take a step ahead and choke.
If I’m not careful, fire can and will make me stop breathing.
If I’m not careful, fire will consume every fiber of what I am and what I have.
But every time I look at the fire for too long, too attentively and too willingly enduring the heat, I just want to keep it alive. It gets weak and dies if it can’t devour and destroy things around it. And I feed it, I throw everything I can find into it. I just want it here with me. I just want to feel your heat.
The fire can create new realities and has a transformative power like nothing else. I feel this with every memory of how you deeply transformed me. Created explosions inside like nothing else had before.
And I keep feeding the fire in hope it will give me back someday.
I know it can be only ashes.
But hope it can be an entire universe instead.
