I miss the times when I was scared of fire.
Where when there was a candle on the table I wouldn't dare go near it.
Too scared to even blow out the flame. Too scared to get burned.
Younger me had no idea what the future held.
How I now see the fire in a different perspective.
I see how beautiful its light is.
How 15 year old me would discover how good the heat of a lighter would feel on my unmarked skin.
I now look at a flame and crave it's warmth.
The burn it leaves giving me the feeling of success.
I miss the times where I was scared of fire,
And life was a lot less complicated.
YOU ARE READING
The Fine Art Of Giving Up
PoesíaI guess this is just me fucking around and writing whatever pops to mind. Feel free to ignore this it's mainly for my benefit 🤠
