We came together in a crash. Not the fleeting shower of sparks of a hammer on forge-hot steel, but the violent, white-hot explosion of a supernova that blinds and burns everything it touches for lightyears.
We did not burn, though. We smoldered with the selfish infatuation and desire of the young. We danced across blackened earth, heedless of all but the feel of our lips on skin and fingers on flesh. With you, I learned the ecstasy of losing myself in hunger. In need. I drank deeply and couldn’t get enough.
It’s been 20 years since the Cataclysm. Our fires have cooled and left us changed. We have navigated the Wild Wood have come out the other side. We aren’t the kids we were. Our story isn’t the fairytale we imagined. We learned that passion ignites, but that it is care and attention that feeds the flame.
12 years ago we made a Promise that we already knew in our hearts. I did not know the myriad of ways a heart could break until that moment and all the moments since. Now, we have new flames in our lives that dance and roar. Our fire has grown in ways we’d planned, but could not anticipate. It sometimes leaves us spread thin and flickering on the coals, with little energy to tend to each other.
Still.
Did you know I still burn for you? Just for you. My fingers still itch to trace your spine when you stand at the sink in the morning. I still distract myself with thoughts of exploring every inch of you in painstaking detail. 20 years after the Cataclysm. 12 years after the Promise. My fire is yours. Always.
