Hearth
That night, I watched your eyes hover with intense focus and fervor. Your hands moved across the pit, placing kindling and logs ever-so precariously. It was the same look you gave me before you kissed me. Cold, blue eyes that unknowingly held a feverish heat. Heart and hearth. Home. I don't fall for people. Most people talk about falling in love like they're jumping from a cliff. And yes, I've felt the rush that comes from running up to the edge and looking down into the abyss that so many people call love. But, no matter what I do, I cannot and will not make my feet leave the ground. I can never see the ground on the other side, so I will never jump. At least, that's how I thought love worked. Maybe it feels different for me, because I'm broken. No, not broken. Don't. Ever. Say. You're. Broken. You. Are. Not. Broken. Isn't that what you taught me? Different. But, for me, it felt like breathing. An incipient flame nested inside my heart. Hearth and home. It's small, but it's warm, and it's mine, and, God, do I not want to let this go. The outside may become cold and bitter, but this keeps me warm. In my heart and home.
















