photos by: chase mccurdy
my favorite part of family dinners was
when my mom would let me light the candles
I've always found fire so beautiful
the yellow and orange hues
the warmth coming from the wick
the gentleness in its movements
I liked to run my fingers back and forth
through it just fast enough so it wouldn't burn
my mom would always yell at me
and tell me to stop she didn't want me to get hurt
I always would tell her "I'm too smart for that.
I can play with fire and not get burned"
but then I met you.
my mom never told me fire could love
or write poetry or teach me things
she never told me fire could burn through all my walls
& create a firestorm in my mind
that the light in his eyes could light up an entire sky
that the warmth of his touch could be far
greater than anything I had ever felt
that his gentle kiss could make me melt
that his passion could ignite something brighter in me
that his words would forever be burned into my memory
she never told me any of this.
& I was afraid to lose the flame I had found
and maybe I tried too hard to not let it burn out
because your words began to smell of smoke
& my words began to turn to ash
I was watching the smoke slip through my hands
& you running away, burning everything in your path
including me and what we had
and now I know why my mom said not to play with fire
because boy does it hurt when you get burned.
i know my fingertips might forever be charred
& now i'll always need to find fuel for my heart
& my lips might always taste of ash
& mom, I'll never be able to go back
but what I've learned so from this:
is that fire is far too beautiful
to not be played with.