people always talk of love as a flame, a passionate fire.
I think we’ve got the wrong idea. I think we’ve always been wrong about it.
see, a fire usually starts with a spark, blazes furiously like a star and then fizzles out to glowing embers
that would imply love eventually fades.
no, now I think of love as an icecube held between warm fingers.
or even that fat snowflake that landed on your nose.
it may slip,
it may melt,
it may even become a puddle of water;
but even in its newfound form, it’s always there.
and after all, even ice can burn.