Love takes flame slow and steady, beautiful and quick catching, or scorching and deadly.
Let me tell you something, no matter what it burns.
Let me ask you something, do you feel cold?
What did you give to our flame as the embers now lay dying?
Can it be brought back once it’s been drowned in reality?
Will it be enough to breathe air into something that has nothing to hold onto?
Let me ask you again, do you feel cold?
Because it doesn’t matter how much you put into the fire if you are the only one adding to the flame.
Let me show you my hands, burned from all that I gave and scarred from all I did not get back.
It’s cold out here, without our flame.
It’s cold in here, where my mind plays games.
It’s cold my dear, and you’re to blame.
A Series of Observations 