it's pathetic how i always compare you to the ocean or the moon when you're actually a wildfire. burning the bushes. burning the bridge. when i first saw you i kept a glass of water in my pocket to keep you away from me, for i knew that you'd be hard to avoid if you got any closer. but then i saw you gently caressing the bushes before eating them alive and i swore i had convinced myself to not fall for you. now that your flame had kissed me, i'm gripping you tightly like i'm afraid you'd burn me. the funny thing is that you're not even as hot as the other wildfires; you're warm. and i've always been cold.