TWELVE

The bright orange light crackles burning the logs and our memories. Tiny sparks fly into the dark night-sky like fireflies.

Fire.

My heart was on fire whenever it was greeted by the things it loved.

They called it passion.

Fire.

People said they feel sparks from within me lighting them up whenever I interacted with them.

They called it charisma.

Fire. My inward being had always been on fire.

But fire needs fuel for it to burn brighter and to grow bigger and stronger.

You were the fuel to the fire inside of me. My passion for the things I do was ignited because of you. My charisma lighted up more people because of you.

You were the fuel that kept me going on. I couldn't help but to take in more of you.

I was addicted. Addicted to everything about you.

But I forgot that I'm not fire itself. I'm just a human after all.

I forgot that fire to obliteration anything that is on its way.

And soon enough the fire in me burned my heart.

I had let too much fuel be added into my fire. I had let myself - my thoughts, my everything - be consumed by you and you alone.

Fire.
My heart is on fire. But now neither of passion nor of charisma.

The fire in front of me crackles eating the logs and our memories.
Sparks fly to the dark sky.
The heat reaches out to me.

I stare down at the last piece of memory in my hand. The last piece of memory of us. Of the three of us. Of the three of us smiling while he and I put our arms around you.

How could I be so stupid? How could I not see that your heart was always for him?

But you knew. You knew of the burning love I had for you.

I clench this last piece of memory feeling my own heart being clenched, twisted, crumpled, burned.

Burned.

My whole body feels numb as I cast the last piece into the fire. I watched it being consumed slowly by the flame.

Burned. You burned my hope. 
My hope is now ashes.

Burned. You burned the love I had for you until it is no more but ashes.

Burned. My heart is burned.

My heart is burned to ashes.