They Called Her Fire

They called her fire,

Was it because of her crimson locks or the bigger than life attitude that seemed to spread like a wildfire?

Maybe it was the way she lit up even the darkest of days with the poetic way she spoke,

When she did speak of course, her words echoing with the accompaniment of dried, rustling leaves. They called her Fire, I called her mine.

She stood on her balcony every evening in the crisp autumn air, with the warmest smile I have ever seen.

Even as the afternoon sank into night, the grin remained plastered on her face as she twiddled her thumbs and breathed deeply, letting the October breeze simmer within her.

Just as common science teaches, the fresh air kept her flame alive, and her flame kept me alive. They called her fire, I called her mine.

Since the beginning of time, people feared flame.

But people also fear the dark which reveals to us the stars.

People fear the wrong, which may sometimes be the right.

Fire keeps us warm; she keeps me warm.

In the burdening autumn nights, to the unforgiving winter, do we not depend on a fire’s warmth to    keep us sane?

Somehow fire became an insult, but I do not think so.

They called her fire, I called her mine.