The Fire in Me

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I don’t know how to be shallow about this, about anything. I wish I could fall to my knees and cry, to grasp your hand and whisper I loved you but I can’t, because I don’t. I’m not simple, I’m not this idea of ...

I don’t know how to be shallow about this, about anything. I wish I could fall to my knees and cry, to grasp your hand and whisper I loved you but I can’t, because I don’t. I’m not simple, I’m not this idea of who you think I’m supposed to be. I’m a tornado of despair and a rainbow of confusion, but it works for me. I could lock myself in a room for days on end and write about all the ways in which I love you before you’d ever hear me speak them to anyone. I know you think you love me, and you might, I don’t know. I could tell you a million things that would make you change your mind, and you would, because I’m not who you think I am; I am one of your wildest ideas, an invention of infatuation. I don’t want to be waited on and I don’t need to be completed. I’ll never let you speak for me and I won’t ever say that I’m sorry. You might think that I’m mean, but that’s why you don’t understand me, I love you just enough to be honest with you, even if that means it might hurt. I don’t wake up refreshed and I’ll rarely acknowledge your being before I’ve downed two cups of coffee and had a cigarette. I’m selfish and instead of wrinkles, I have lines on my forehead from scowling. Who I am today was built from the ground up. Death and loss and heartache is becoming on me, I would not be here without it. Friend or foe, lover or stranger alike, I am not to be owned or belonged. I am a free spirit of this world and my heart was made much too deep to only love in this life, on this earth. I crave eternity, ethereal beings and life with my loves who have passed. I am sad for no reason and I will yell at you for turning on the lights. You might think you’re just pouring yourself a bowl of cereal but I see you creating your own waterfall, a bowl of strength in which to carry your stardust through the day. I am a creature of habit and I will curse the rain when it leaves the lightning behind. I am angry but I will never leave because I am loyal to a fault. I am everything, and I am nothing. I am the peak of Everest and the bed of rubble in which the Titanic sleeps on every night. You will learn to hate me. You are rain, you will try your damnedest to douse my fire every night to see my embers. You will try to understand why I started, why I burn and why for so long, but I will never show you. It is not that I could never love you and it is not that I don’t, but I could never continue to give you the same love I give to my pen and paper. Eventually, you will see that even I am not forever, but my words will never disappear from you. I will haunt your thoughts long after I’m gone.

Alexandra L. Narron

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