But it’s a moment of weakness; harmless, when suddenly you’re a little kid with matchstick hands and he’s open fire palms and asking you to dip yourself into him. He’s asking you to dip yourself into him and you tell yourself whole houses never burnt down from a single spark so you rest your hands into his like nothing has ever felt more right in the world and watch your skin light up. And it’s a moment of weakness; harmless, when your veins run with gasoline blood and he’s everywhere and nowhere and right there in front of you at the same damn time and you swear to God his eyes lit up like they did the first time you touched but baby forest fires never burnt themselves out before taking everything else down with them. And it’s a moment of weakness; harmless, when he blows out quicker than a dead fire, when you are left burnt-down houses that never grew into homes, when you are left turning ash and spilling onto everyone who dares to touch you. And it’s a moment of weakness; harmless, when you’re no longer a little kid and he’s no longer your sun and you taste burn marks all the way down your throat and into your stomach and you know not to run back to something that set you on fire when all you wanted was to be held.
— Reena B. | Harmless.