the consumption of love

A story always begins with a feeling. A spark that ignites the beginning of a blaze. My love for you was intense. And I danced around the fire it kindled, the warmth awakened and my soul ablaze. This fire animated me; for the first time in my life, I truly lived. Not out of obligation, but out of passion, this feeling of exaltation had given me my home. I nurtured this intense passion. The creaking of the wood gave me the rhythm to follow. But little by little, the temperature rose. That once-beautiful sun began to burn. The heat grew more and more intense. Thick smoke and the smell of burning rose from the ashtray. We ended up suffocated. This veil covered our story. The ashes, now numerous, blackened everything. This fire became a conflagration. Today, only ruins remain, where once our shadows lay, entwined in the twilight. A story always ends when someone leaves. No goodbye, only the disappearance of ashes and fog.