The kind of love that defines a blazing flame. I lit a match stick and it caught fire, the entire box engulfed in flames. I listened to it crackle, watched it flame up and smelt it burn in the air. The idea of a lighted flame from a flick of the fingers, very enticing. An uncontrolled flame, not one you put out with a breath of air but the kind you watch die off on its own. The safe feeling where it is very unlikely to get out of control, but there is something so frightening about it if it did. Love, its seems, burns and feeds on the oxygen and resources of another but fails to fend on its own as a light source, as an inspiration. The heart is charred, a void forever. This broken heart, it must have felt that burning pain but the scars tell a story, one that experienced love in its own magnificence.
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