Dear Love,

They say that you are a burning flame. They compare me often to you; love burns, it wounds. But I think they’re all wrong. You’re too sweet for me, too caring, but all too willing to cause wars fought ruthlessly over years when I could strike them all down in an instant. In real life, people scream when they see me; they try to douse me and kill me, and run away from me. Why, then, do they cling to you, embrace you, hold you as the most powerful force in this world? I am a million years older than you.

So why do they compare something they cherish to something they fear? I am sick and tired of it. How about instead of comparing you to me, they could compare you to flowers or family, something just as easy to destroy. That’d be nice.

Disrespectfully, Fire