I played with fire once. It hurt a lot. It burned and scarred my flesh. Making my epidermis seem to be as week as a tissue instead of a suit of armor like I thought.

That fire, she was beautiful, but she brought more chaos than peace. I poured out my everything onto that fire, my time, my money, my love.

But then, like a castle being seiged in pure darkness, I was caught off guard and burnt as my heart shattered in more pieces than the grains of sand that cover a beach.

Will the burning ever stop?

I don't know.

I hope so at least.

Maybe she wants me back now, maybe it was just a big misunderstanding. Maybe we can be happy again.

Ugh, all I've done, gone to waste. I hate everything, I hate the world, I hate this, I hate that.

If only, I would've bought her more flowers or made the hugs longer. If only I was richer or looked better.

What's the point, all fires are meant to be burnt by anyways. Why even try again, these burn marks don't hurt too bad. They don't matter, nothing matters it seems.

You know what, what happened happened. And it hurt, it hurt a lot, but I refuse to let a few emburs leave a conflagration on my life. I'm gonna get back up, because it's not the fall that defines me, it's what I do when I get up.