Fire.

And it’s over, just like that. No more butterflies, no warm feelings. I forgot it. How it felt, how it feels… to be happy. I can feel the heat burning in my chest, radiating to my lungs, outward to my extremities. How can I be burning up but shaking like a leaf. Am I cold or just angry?

My vision turns from bright vibrant colors to different rays of grey. All color seems to fade away, the grey’s begin to catch flame and all is left is ash. It’s all burning to the ground.

All the memories I’ve held have faded to hate and anger. All I am is red.

A flame.

And it’s silly, it’s really fucking silly. But when his fingers find my body, I stop. Everything stops, my world stops crumbling and my heart is beating. I should tell him I am fire. I should tell him I am a mess, a wreck. I should tell him he will burn too. That he too will catch a flame and he will soon be ash as well.

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