They told me that our love was a lit candle. So fragile, quick to burn out when the wind blows.

But I told them our love was a house fire. I can still recall the burning sensation all over my body. We were blistering hot to the touch, our love a force to be reckoned with.

Eventually, I was stuck in the burning house of love, trapped and banging on the doors for help. Meanwhile, you were outside throwing more gasoline to the fire. You wanted it to go on forever, not realizing the smoke was filling my lungs and the flames licking my skin.

By the time you realized your love was killing me, it was too late. You tried the hose, but the water wasn't strong enough. You called 911, but there was no time.
By the time the fire trucks arrived, I was long gone.

You mourn my death, yet I mourn my life.
What a waste to spend it all on you.