It feels conceited but I know by the look in his eyes that he loves me. Blue eyes glazed with warmth, he regards me as though nothing is as important. There's only him and I. Nothing else seems to matter.

     I've long yearned for a love of the such, longed for someone to love me so deeply that it makes up for the lack of love I've shown myself.

     I asked to be consumed this way. But a love of such intensity, especially in my circumstances can only be destructive.

     Our love burns like a fire.

     It's strong. It's passionate. And most of all, it's warm. Scorching.

     The heat is most welcomed at first. We think the fire's under control.

     But it's only a matter of time before we're left with nothing but ashes.

     And so, though I'm possibly the happiest I've ever been, a deep fear turns my blood cold. As I know that our love story will end with your clutching of my ashes; souls torched by the fiery love we let consume our bodies.

     I know this, now.

     I see the devastation that will surely follow this deflagration. Yet... I don't find myself seeking shelter. I don't search for water or a fire extinguisher.

      I'm terrified of getting burned... but that fear is nothing in comparison to the horror triggered by the idea of losing you.