Fear of Fire

I felt afraid. I felt afraid that I'd be seen. Not that I'm hiding, far from it.. I just didn't want to be seen. I've begun to dread the thought of an encounter. What would I say? What would happen? Perhaps I've had too many bad experiences already that I can't stand the thought of another one. Get burned too often and the thought of fire rekindles the pain of the burn.

I didn't realize until now just how much I had been affected. I kept thinking that if there were no encounters, then there would be no chance of it happening like it did many times before. No goodbyes, no awkward silences, no searching for words to say. And no more hurt.

It's funny how I'd reacted. I never imagined that I would in that way. Is this what everyone felt? Am I running away from the inevitable, or just making myself used to it slowly, or even hoping I'd forget. But I can't forget. The stories that I'd hear, the questions asked upon me, the queries to life - all of them, reminders of how much one can feel, and how much one can endure before breaking into pieces.

A part of me died then, the part that had hoped, once. They say hope can never be extinguished, and I can see that the smaller it gets, the more fiercely it burns. But it can waver, it can falter, and it can be smothered. It will continue to glow, yes. But until it has a fuel to feed it, to nurture it, it will never be the blazing fire that it is destined to be.

Too many glowing embers lay scattered on the ground, that the heat is not enough to smite the cold, mocking wind.