Forest Fires
It's not often that you bare your soul to someone. Your entire being, the things that make you...you. But you knew he would love you, convinced that he would see inside your burnt heart, the forest trees that are nothing more than charred stumps, and love you more for it. Love you more for the scars that created your strong will, the doubt from everyone in your life that created your determination, and the self-hatred that convinced you you were nothing, a speck of dirt on the floor, the self-hatred that you beat back at every corner that built your perseverance.
You admitted it to him late one night, admitted everything. How he made you feel, how you wanted to be in his life. With him. And he laughed. You opened your heart to him, basking him in your light and he laughed. He looked you in the eyes and laughed?
And so you did the only thing you knew how to do. You built your fire higher, burned brighter, a warning sign to anyone who dared come closer to you that you are not worth the pain or the trouble. Surrounded by whispers of white flashing heat, unworthy of company. But at least you were safe. And at least you were alone.
But some men tried to rush the fire, thrusting their arms through the flames that surrounded you, their open palms spewing shallow compliments falsely believing that was all it took to make you jump out of your fiery core and into their predatory arm. They didn't realize that their rough grip pulling you out of flames that weren't ready to give you up only burned you. They never do.
So you sat and waited inside the flames that licked at your skin, reddening your forearms and singeing your hair. The fire kept you safe but it slowly burned you, leaving trails of scar and trauma that would forever brand you as lessor.
Until you met George. The british boy who was obsessed with minecraft. He screamed too loud. He was too careless with his affection. He smiled at you and joked with you and wasn't afraid of the fire. At first, he recklessly poured water on the outer rings of blue flames, believing that was the best way to put out a forest fire. When the flames only came back hotter, licking the sky as they danced, he tried a different tactic.
He sat patiently, at the edge of the tornado storm of blue and red heat, and asked you easy questions. What's your favorite color? Your favorite food? What makes you laugh? What's the last thing you think of at night?
Slowly the flames died down, leaving lukewarm coals in their absence and George scooted closer.
It wasn't a fool proof plan. Sometimes he would be too eager and ask a question you weren't ready for and the flames would come back, licking his hands as he tried to protect himself.
But over time he was able to stand in front of you, his cheeks reddened by the heat but he still smiled. He put out a forest fire and he smiled at you? After all that trouble, pain, and time... he smiled?
So when he reached out to you, his touch like cool water flowing through your veins dousing the last of the lingering fire, you allowed him to pull you towards him. You wrapped yourself around him, holding on tightly to the man who braved your fire. You no longer needed molten lava to protect you with him by your side.
The two of you set out to correct your destruction. Planting flowers in the coals and trees in the embers. Slowly but surely your soul was rebuilt with love and reassurance that you are worth it. You're worth it all.
