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accidental-psalms-blog

You Are Not a Fire in Me

They say that what I have for you is love, and love is a fire.

But you are not a fire in me. You are the clearest face in my mind engraved, you are words given voice and carefully shaped, a sequence of syllables invoking the same. You are alive not only on my lips and my heart. You are my passion, my voice, you are the essence of my art.

You are not a fire in me. You are not my ambrosia to give life beyond life. Not even my Tartarus, my deepest chasm of sorrow, nor the Styx that promises to make all promises come true. In the time of my nursing these feelings, I’ve come to know that you are not as grand as a myth; not as un-reachable, not as dramatic, nor as divine.

But— you captivate me more than any story ever could. You are a lightest feather that brushes my heartbeat, the cause of my cutest embarrassments. You are my little moments of uneasiness, the perfect emulsion of fear and excitement.

You are not a fire in me, yet you invoke emotions more potent than any novel could ever, and you keep me awake longer than the stories on TV. When I finally give up on sleep and get off of my bed, as my feet touch the stone cold floor of my room, you are the little tickles on my toes, you are a nibbling frostbite in my head.

You are not a fire in me, but an unforgettable name. You are not as fragile, within my being, as an easily-extinguishable flame. You are not quick to falter nor flickering and fickle: you are only ever as warm as I needed you to be; never greater, never less. You are my fulfillment.

Now, they say that what I have for you is love, and love is a fire.

But you are not a fire in me— you are my core. You are not a fire in me, my dearest, you are so much more.

— A. Prescott