Hope is a terrible, awful thing to have someone give you.
Hope has this magnificent power to take you so high without any concrete foundation.
To make you see so far
With so little light.
You took my vulnerability.
The feelings I had for you.
Everyone else ran away.
But you stayed.
You didn't just stay.
You lit the tiniest flame of hope that you might return those feelings.
And in a room
As dark
As desperate
As mine.
It lit up every corner.
And I found that as
scary
as that room looked
All lit up
I kind of
Liked
Being able to see everything.
But the flame wasn't attached to a candle
Or a lantern
Or anything like that.
It was a tiny
Little match
Held in between
My fingers.
I asked you if we could light a candle
So I could drop the match.
It wasn't a great candle.
Simply wax.
But it had a wick that would have prevented me from burning
My fingers.
I figured after I lit the candle we could find something better
Brighter
Nicer
To light later.
To help us find a better way of carrying that flame.
You took a look at the candle and said the candle had a lot of things you wanted a candle to have.
But.
You weren't planning on lighting any candles.
Suddenly that bright little flame
That had lit up the entire room
Looked a lot smaller
It wasn't really all that bright.
As the flame got
Closer and
Closer
To my fingers
It got
Smaller and
Smaller and
Smaller and
I should have dropped it.
But I let it burn my fingers
And the saddest part is
I  was legitimately
Content
In my dark little room.
I didn't need you to come in with a flame
You weren't willing to let burn
On its own.
Light has a nasty
Little habit
Of lighting up a dark room and leaving the room a **** ton darker
In its absence.
I'd rather my room had stayed
Exactly
The
Way
It
Was
Than to get a look at all the corners
And end
With burned fingers
In
A
Vastly
Darker
Room.