I feel that my attraction to you is inappropriate. Of course this is preposterous as attraction is a fire where even smothering it acts as an instrument to further instigate the fire's ferocity. Even where dying embers lay, after a spring shower there remains the, albeit minuscule, chance that the flames will reignite and scorch the earth beneath them.
What is mostly inappropriate is that I have found myself utterly consumed by this fire without the thought or want of reprieve. The ends of each flame flickers and dances above my head just out of my reach. At times one will lower in intensity as the crackling beneath my feet and the roar above my head begin to dull in animation only to quickly deprive me if reaching it.
The pain is unbearable at times. Anticipation diced with excitement and self-disgust swarm my pickled mind. The pain is a guide which leads me down uncharted roads where bliss becomes fear and fear becomes denial and denial becomes acceptance which most humans use to compartmentalize and repress or rationalize the fantasies the fire depicts. They're thrilling. They're disgusting.
I am revolted. I am intrigued.
The yellow and golden red flames that lick the heavens restrict me from simply leaving as they shoot up in jest.
Here I am safe despite the anguish.
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