Hot to touch. Your pigment turned red. Every warning sign went off. You weren’t always a walking fever, but the voice in my head said, “stop, don’t go that way”. Sticks and stones won’t break your bones because they’re made of ashes. You set a fire inside of you long ago. Lit up your insides as if you drank kerosine and ate a spark. I tried to put it out, but by the time I got to you I saw flames in your pupils. This isn’t how the story was supposed to go, right? I guess it never is. We’ll be young forever if we decide to never grow up. We’ll stay sad and angry. We’ll taste smoke whenever we talk about you. It’s these gentle reminders that aren’t so gentle. I’ll hide from every flame. I’ll remember that the only reason we can see its ferocious light is because it’s surrounded by darkness. I’ll put the sticks and stones in my pocket for safekeeping and remember why you burned so loudly in the first place. -AMT©️