you've been distant.
sparks still fly,
the fire still burns,
but that's a given,
you laced your words with them.
i thank you, nonetheless.
we always built this fire
to teach it not to go out,
but i was always the one too damp for sparks.
the burning was still,
all was in tact,
and i make myself believe it still is,
but that ******* storm brought mighty wind,
and the fire is still no more,
it dies down,
goes smaller,
the room darkens,
and panic rushes in,
filling up my blood.
but the fire fights,
and that one glorious spark
reignites this fire.
it is not as great,
but it's here,
and so are you.
sometimes i look at us,
and i notice
the candle seems to be running out,
and "it's fine," we say,
but is it really?
so i gather sticks and rocks and ask you,
"dear, are you happy?
or do you stay just for me?"
the fire grows smaller.
"do you still love me?"
the candle runs out.