The Fire that I once loved
In the heart of April, I came face to face with a painful truth: I had lost something I once cherished deeply, a fire that had warmed me through the coldest nights, giving light when the world felt dark. It was the kind of love that once seemed unbreakable, but life has a way of showing us that even the brightest flames can fade. As the embers cooled, I realized that maybe it was always destined to end this way. Now, all that remains are memories and the hollow ache of knowing we’ve become nothing more than strangers.
The fire I adored was so bright that it often left me blinded by its intensity. Yet, no one can stay close to such a fierce flame forever without getting burned. I was like the deep, mysterious blue sea, filled with secrets that even I couldn’t fully comprehend. But the fire, in its warmth and brilliance, understood me like a heartfelt poem, uncovering a part of my soul that I had never seen before. It revealed a hidden depth within me, a piece of myself that had been waiting, silently, to be brought to light.
The fire, once a beacon of warmth and light, had become an instrument of betrayal. It didn’t just take away my trust; it devoured my sense of safety and belonging. Its consuming blaze reduced my world to cinders, leaving behind only the smouldering ruins of what once was. I had believed it would be different, that the fire’s heat would forge something strong and enduring. But instead, it only burned away the very essence of what we had, leaving me with ashes where I once found solace.
It took something precious from me, something irreplaceable that I can never reclaim. In its hunger, it took more than I could give, leaving me with burns that no amount of time or distance could heal. The fire’s embers now only serve as a reminder of what was lost, a bitter echo of promises broken and trust betrayed.
The fire I once adored was the very fire that consumed me. I knew from the beginning that it would eventually destroy me, yet I stayed, willingly caught in its fierce, captivating flames. It burned me deeply, searing into my soul, but I couldn’t help but love it. The intensity, the passion, it was all too intoxicating to resist. I couldn’t put out the fire, no matter how much it hurt, so I chose to walk away. As I stood on trembling legs, the weight of what I was leaving behind pressing on my chest, I whispered, “I wish I could show you the wounds you’ve caused, but you are a fire — you’ll never understand.”
And so, as the last of the flames flickered out, I turned away, carrying the scars and the weight of what had been taken from me. The fire will continue to burn in its own world, indifferent to the ashes it leaves behind, unaware of the damage it has caused. I am left to sort through the wreckage, hoping to find some peace amidst the ruins. I can only hope to rebuild from the remains of a bond that once meant everything to me, knowing that the fire will never look back, never understand the pain it left behind.