Burn marks

              I feel like I might burst into flames any second. Not tears, flames, enough to burn a house down. It would be better if I did, because there would be less damage if I released all of it now rather than feel it smolder inside me, a deadly heat of vengeance.

I can’t describe the event in whole; it is asking too much of me, and much of me had been diminished. But I can tell you how it started.

In the beginning there was a fire.

A fire that crackled and spat morphine, so deceptive and so addictive. The flame was the most peculiar kind of orange, not the reddish orange that would be seen in a forest fire, but a neon orange, the kind that blazed fierceness and defiance. I felt it beckon to me, its calling reaching deep into my heart, a connection so intense I felt its ferocity in my veins. It travelled to my nerves, pass all the synapses down to every single crevice of my body. Its flames licked my heart, slowly and deliberately it was set ablaze. You were the fire.

Your wall enclosed me, until I was not one but the tiniest fragment in the universe. I was insignificant, miniscule even in this fiery cavern; nothing mattered except for my pulsing heart with

the roaring flames which seeped into my blood, which boiled and hissed with a

passion like no other. I felt the surging rush of blood to my

head and it collated, churning and I was

delirious, unstoppable,

full.

              Then came the water. Spilling in from all directions. I could only watch as the flames died down one by one; their last sizzles echoing in the night. They dissipated, leaving no signs of its existence. An icy plunge had washed over me, causing goosebumps on my skin. Pressing trembling fingers to my neck, I grimaced, I could feel the hectic pulse of an angry figure, a conspicuous rhythm in the hollow silence. Each pump of blood was harrowing, molten lava surging through my veins in a frenzy. It took all my willpower not to scream as the surges teared through my body unrelentingly, scorching hot, yet my skin remained stone cold. I was on the floor without realizing it, clutching my abdomen as the seizures sent renewed pain all around. My vision blurred. Oh, I was crying.

              Footsteps. A hand on my shoulder.

              “Water.” I managed to croak through my parched mouth.

              Instead, they wrapped me in a towel, kind words murmured against the impaling heat, “you must be freezing” they said. All whilst fire seeped through.

As the days went on, the agony sent me in a downward spiral, I could not move without detecting the searing pain in my heart. People tried to sympathize, and they tried hard, so I swallowed, nodded my thanks, “I’ve got this” I said. It became my motto, a motto that I didn’t believe in. Keeping my head down, I hid amongst the throng of people, kind of wishing that they would swallow me whole,

because if I was nothing your unperturbed gaze wouldn’t land on me and

I would not feel the wave of deep, deep resentment tinged with grief even though I

hadn’t lost anyone,

but in a way I had lost my whole self

and now everything I did was a reminder of

you.

              I saw you with her one day (when did you start talking to her?). You were too busy flirting to notice me, the heart you set on fire, brimming on the edge of destruction. But I saw you, and that was the only thing that mattered. Your arm around her. My blood boiled. Fire rippled through my body in triple the speed, tore free of the bandages my friends put on; it festered. The already blistering heat expanded to my airways, blocking it, suffocating me. I couldn’t breathe. Yet my legs moved without my dysfunctional brain’s command and I fled.

              So I asked you whether you liked her, even though I knew it would not be beneficial to my shattered heart. If only I wasn’t so goddamn masochistic.

              “Please don’t spread rumours.” You said. A blunt command.

              “If you really knew me you would know that I wouldn’t do something like this.”

              “Well I don’t know you.”

              Five words. My heart bled. Did you not feel our connection? I wanted to scream. It physically poured out of me, all the blood and anguish and anger, and utter betrayal. You called to me, you wanted me! I tasted blood on my tongue; hell I could feel the stickiness all over my body, the metallic smell so pungent. I had always despised blood and the trauma that came with it, but at the moment I craved yours. Desperately. But I couldn’t take your blood because

people would see the blood on my hands

and judge

even though you broke my heart and left behind

marks,

scars,

permanent reminders of a deadly burn.

              The truth is, there isn’t a happy ending, nor might there even be an ending, because as your heart hardens, so does mine, as time goes on

it glues it’s broken pieces back together, bounds its outsides with bubble wrap, bathes in golden sunlight until you don’t even recognize it because it’s blinds you in its light, causing you to exclaim, “I have never seen anything like this before!”, and you fall for its warmness, craves its approval, hoping for its glow upon you. Because the truth is you have never, not once seen anyone as blinding as this. You hang on to the image of a frail heart, once shattered into a million pieces, capable of love but more capable of falling for deceit, side tracked by the illusion of love but mesmerized in being loved itself. Except you can’t find it.

Because it’s wrapped under so many layers of friendship, of unconditional love and yes by hardship, as pain can smother pain, forcing its way into your heart until all is forgotten. But somewhere underneath is a beating heart, with burn marks so raw and painful, because a fragile heart will always be fragile.

In another multiverse,

your flame might not have even gotten my attention but instead

dispersed in the open air

harmlessly,

leaving no scars nor burn marks,

just the smoky scent of an unsatisfied presence.

But I would be whole, and when another

fire appears, I would not get tangled in my net of

insecurities or pull back when I feel its

knock

on my heart,

my brain screaming “flee!” but my heart holding its ground

while the barriers

dissolve

and one by one the burn marks are revealed,

whispers of agonizing days

nursing the flame that refused to die.