Camping
Is it irrational for me to believe that I could still find our spark? That I could scavenge the ground where you left me with nothing but a flashlight, searching around our empty camp where the fire was once lit?
Its raining. Our fire has been put out. Our smouldering flames have been put to rest, replaced by nothing more than the hazy days where I would cry over the simplest things, and you would find me too simple.
Do you remember when that spark burned through your sleeve? You were warming your hands above the centre too close to the fire that I dwelled within.
Perhaps it was the passion that put out the flame....
Is it irrational for me to believe that we could rebuild from broken twigs? That this time, the fire could radiate between the two of us, and not just from me?
You will only tell me once.
Whether I am still to believe.
If only it would stop raining,
Maybe I could hear you.
~lmw
0 comments:
Post a Comment