If You Love Me

Chapter 3 - Park Disaster

Love is fire — it ignites just as quickly as it fades. The tangerine and golden hues that it once possessed now bronzing, and dwindling until nothing but the charcoaled wick remained, standing tall.

Even what remained of the pathetic embers vanished, carrying into the wind as a puff of smoke danced around it. The warmth itself, replaced with a cold breeze from the night's lamenting breeze, the wick howling for it to return. 

For things to be to back to normal.

Even though the flame had parted, the wick remained standing, damaged — but standing. Though the wick had been charred, it was now stronger than ever, carrying the burden of the previous flame alone.

The wick could withstand a great amount, unlike the weak flame that only sparked when things were dry... hot. 

The flames devoured the wick, tortured it when it's master had decided to light, eating away at the wax maintaining their foundation. 

Flames were spontaneous, breaking out whenever the moment felt appropriate, bringing heat to the already cold relationship. 

The wick was irreplaceable trust, but the flame on the other hand — was lust.

Not love. 

You see without trust and a spark, there is no love. There is no understanding, no sexual desire.

However just like an overdose, too much of one sole element could tip the scale, turn everything toxic.  

For the fire, this was normal.

Many would abuse the wick, tell it it's useless, unworthy. They would throw it away and blame the wick for being too weak and cowardly. However, what they never realized was that perhaps the lust had been too overpowering. 

In this world, harmony is achieved by balance.

A sturdy flame can't illuminate without a wick; something solid to rely on and set boundaries with. The twinkle is something that comes and goes but that can be controlled with the right measures if taken.

But if unsupervised and uncontrolled, the fire would abandon the wick once the resources it needed had been scarce, a strong desire to move on to the next wick to twirl in the midnight hours. 

Or more simply consume the wick until a pool of nothing but ash remained. 

The wick however, needed this flame because without it the relationship would grow useless, like a lost moon having no planet to orbit a — telescope unable to see the stars. 

The whispers from your lips had become muffled as you stood before the door like usual, this time a layered cake presenting itself in both of your palms.

They say you become more beautiful when you fall in love.

But did the hypocrites ever consider the discreet tears you let slip? 

Did they...

Consider the pain that comes with love?

Inhaling a sharp breath, a pained smile sprouts. The memories were still hard, inescapable, consuming everything — your thoughts and heart. 

Was it wrong?