Some people believe that when an entrance is markedly unguarded, surely there is nothing of worth inside; that when the path is aligned and illuminated, there could be no possible treasure at the end. Presumably, if the riddle is easy, if the task undaunting, there is no satisfaction to be gained from the effort. As such, all casual invitations are mistaken for reckless abandon.

I find these assumptions sad, and yet unrelentingly universal. It speaks to a dispiriting cynicism; a general distrust of genuine human nature. This is a malady we all share; a natural self defense mechanism. I simply find it disappointing that so often this misinterpretation, this self-preserving fear, presents itself so quickly in our lives.

I myself tend to wait for the fire, or at the very least, the signs of smoke, before I presume I will be burned.

When you have watched death, not just seen, or heard of it; but watched it’s wrath in agonizing detail, you become a different creature. Your eyes never see quite the same again. You watch your life from the back of your mind, where a clock is always ticking, incessant in its reminder that this is all just a play; your part just a few short lines, and soon, you too will exit the stage.

I have my own flaws; all self-inflicted obstacles that I have not yet achieved the strength to overcome, but then, we are all works in progress and I am no different. I used to keep the world out, preserving myself within myself, a statue of a woman. I have since razed those walls; the world has served me a slice of everything, and there is nothing I will not take from its plate now, if only once.

And so I take you. I take you with ease and complete acceptance. I take you because I want you, because the clock is ticking and tomorrow you may be gone. I take you in an earnest attempt to know you. And you run from me…to save yourself.

But I am not the fire, darling.