Darling, come sit with me for a while.
We can light a candle or two and watch old flames dance once more.
We can speak of the past for a bit, simpler times where "I love you" was enough.
Times when my hand fit into yours like the final piece of a puzzle,
and our love was the beauty found in completion.
But completion is not always when the puzzle is put together.
Sometimes, it is when the puzzle falls apart.
Slamming fists on wooden tables,
frustration jerking our poor puzzle closer and closer to the dreaded edge.
"I love you too, but..." sends it to the tiled floor,
and as it falls,
we watch everything we built come undone,
yet do nothing to save it.
Come, sit next to me.
I'll light your favorite scents of cedarwood and vanilla,
and you can watch as I play with fire.
That's the thing about flames.
They dance recklessly,
leaning whichever way they are commanded by wind or man's gentle breath,
all without knowing that they are doomed to burn out.