I am the reminiscent glow of warmth in the midst of a light autumn snow: the embers itching for something new to swallow, perhaps another brittle arm of a Douglas Fir or the soaked heart of a Willow, but I wait in agony even if you've been gone for hours because maybe you're just looking for the perfect branch or maybe you've found a new fire to keep you warm?

My skin is nothing but mere ash compacted into a human body, crumbling away with each touch and yet there I was laying next to him after my heart stopped beating with your softening footsteps; he ignited me for a breath and stumbled away for a girl who burns so much brighter than I.

I am a benign fire hazard with a finger curled around an unlit match, salt water drenching its ruby crown and its body straining against my grip, but I can do it myself -- I can keep myself warm if I can only have the will to keep these embers glowing just a bit longer.