Nothing That A Fire

When I first met you – you were so bright I had to shield my eyes. I’d like to say you were blinding, except I was already blind.

I only learnt to see in order to look at you.

I knew it was mad – but I was mad enough to want it. In the end, what was I leaving behind?

Blandness. Trinkets. Nothing that a fire wouldn’t burn.

And now surrender. How liberating.

For a while I was flying. We were flying. It was everything.

I adored you. Even gravity couldn’t bring me down.

If I have fallen from the sky, it is because I once dwelt in the clouds with you.