A tender memory of a quiet night. In front of the fire I sit and stare, only to wander off with those thoughts again.

Death provokes me, adding wood to the already blazing heat. And me? I'm daring - so I reach my hand to touch a familiar but painful warmth.

Ah, truly, fire is a beautiful liar. And you? You're the scars on my skin, a moment akin to the original sin. That's why I pushed myself all the way in. That's why I always give in.

Burn me.