What I've Lost

I guess that's why they call it "a crush."By the end, there's nothing really left.

Love is like fire, there's no delicate or safe way to play with it.

I ask for no sympathy, for all the pain I've felt, was self inflicted. Though I didn't know that till years after.

But by then it was too late, I was burned. I'd scarred myself trying to cross an imaginary wall that I didn't know which side I wanted to be on.

That wasn't my only mistake. I'd give all I have to get that time back. To see that world how I did before.

I still believe in fairy tales, that's probably where I went wrong.

"Faith," they say. "Try again."

But where? With who?

How can I possibly defend from worse burns that could cause permanent damage?

 So I build myself inside a flimsy card box to protect myself from the inevitable.

Or is it?

Can I truly expect to stay packaged inside while I wait this out? To avoid enticing play of fire?

Not likely. They flames are bound to come and lick up my silly little box of protection. Carry it along with the wind of my aspirations and drop the ashes of my disappointment.

How can such silly crush hurt so much?

The pain they caused wasn't direct or ever intentional. They didn't even let on to it.

So I guess they knew.

But even still. I put my own hand in the fire expecting him to do the same.

Or did I expect him to care and help me bandage my wounds? Would covering it change anything?

Could he really have healed it? Can I? Or have I?

Why do I even keep the memory?

The fire. A dazzling iridescent fan.

I try not to exaggerate. (More or less.)

But I have a firm belief that the cliche was written to resonate with the heart. That if bent in the right way can be sent as a written beautiful message.

Of hope.

Of warning.

But maybe I'll never know. Maybe someone will find that piece of me in the ashes where I forgot to look and bring it back to me. Maybe I'll be that strong independent. Maybe it'll all remain the same.

I just hope I'm the one to make the choice.