I feed the fire.
Not because I need its warmth,
Not because the night is cold,
But because I remember
How it feels to have such a spark.
The flames climb higher,
Each minute I stay.
Each smile,
Each moment,
More fuel for that glow.
And maybe that’s the problem.
The heat might be catching me.
I’ve stood too close.
Enough to forget
The way it burns,
The same way it glows.
Maybe I should step away.
Leave some distance
Between myself
And what’s growing.
It might be smart
To let those burns heal.
But the cold nights will always come.
One day,
The wind will bite harder.
The dark will stay longer.
And I’ll only be able to wish
For a flame
To light my path.
One day,
I’ll be grateful
For every ember I kept alive.
But what if I’m feeding a fire
I don’t yet want?
What if I’m sustaining
Something that might need to rest.
But still, I let it grow.
Because I know how hard it can be
To form sparks
From a void.
To gather the wood.
To strike that match.
To kneel in the cold
And shield a fragile flame
With shaking hands.
I don’t know
If I can do it all again.
So I feed the fire.
Not because I’m ready
To sit beside it.
Not because I need its warmth.
But because I’m afraid
That if it dies.
I won’t make it
Through the winter to come.