Sometimes a fire grows so bright that you can't stand the heat. You trample it out of fear and live with the embers. For the embers are bright enough; emit enough light to last a lifetime. You stand in the awesome power of the embers, so thankful for the warmth. Surely, this fire will never go out.
He tells you it won't. It's different. You know it's not, but you let him teach you the lie. He knows its a lie too, but you're only a child and can't handle the truth. So he gazes into your eyes and plays prince charming. Such a beautiful sacrifice, to let one's fire burn out for another. You didn't know you were supposed to be fanning the flames.
When you realize, it's too late. You walk out to the campfire after a beautiful night of rain and see the embers smoking, not smoldering. You still don't believe it.
"It just needs a little fuel," you tell yourself. "It's stronger than that, surely..."
So you add the fuel. And you cling. And you devolve into merely a shadow of your former self. You're ready now, to fan the fire, but it's far too late. The fire went out years ago while you were preoccupied with yourself. There's no reviving it now. You start to wonder if the fire ever burned, or if that was just your imagination again. Have you always been alone?
The fire won't light. So you stand outside. And cry in the rain.
