Is this what love is?

I craved, almost needed, practically cried for warmth - my days were so cold

I finally found myself a fire place, it feels like home, it hugs me with its flames

But it begins to burn
Burns my walls
My soul
My sanity
And even my humanity

Masochistic to this flame, I do not move
I wish to when It's burning, but when It's warming it feels so good ...
It makes the burning tolerable

Is this what love is?
Accepting that flames, although warming,can sometimes burn?

         - F.V.