Fire.
You walked through my fire. And you didn’t complain, not even once. Not when your feet became completely engulfed, obsolete. Not when I scorched your hair and singed your clothing, or when my heat made your skin shimmer with sweat, melt. Not when my rage striped you naked, left you exposed and melting. No, you stayed all the way through, until you were reduced to ashes, so small and insignificant that even a gentle breeze would throw you, thrash you, crush you against walls of concrete, lumps of metal. Until you were in enough pieces that I could give each part of me to a part of you. Until each fragment of my being had someone, so that it would never be alone. So that we, we were one whole being, rather that the million tiny bits of shrapnel that the world had made us.
3 years ago • 0 notes