Three Hundred Sixty Four

Our love was once a fire, sending up flares whenever we shared moments. When you left me, the fire was confused. It blazed when we were together, wept and died to near nothing when I was alone. Over time, like all fires, it began to die. When it took a dive, I would take wood and toss it into the measly fire and force it to be reborn. Yet this was no phoenix. The time we spent together lessened and lessened, finally resulting to a net zero. Oh how I cried. My tears dampen not the remaining fire, but they created a pool of desparateness and I spent every living moment chopping trees and keeping us alive. The world around me became a wasteland, void of trees and all things flammable. All of it had been poured into keeping the love alive. All I had left were smoldering ashes and a small handful of tinder. So in the tinder went. When the ashes’ occasional flicker dimmed, I would place some tinder around the specks and cup my hands around it. I blew, lovingly, gently, hopefully, and with each breath more of myself was poured into the void our love had become. I became empty. And the fire was dying. I began to question myself, every day, all day, confused by the lack of emotion. Frustrated, I dropped the rest of the tinder in and blew. And with that breath I blew the fire out.
I tried so hard to preserve us. Now we are nothing. I am coming back, though. The smoke that billows from our love fills me. It is dark emotion, dark like the black smoke; sick emotion, like the depression that swept me away. The emotion is filled with pain and fear and regret. But I can feel again. Maybe one day there will be a new forest and maybe this one won’t die, but flourish.