In the quiet of your chest, where the embers of longing smolder, you cradle love like a fragile flame. It flickers, dances, and yearns for release. You, the keeper of this inferno, carry it within you—a box of matches tucked into the pocket of your soul.
“Set it all on fire, baby,” you whisper to the night, your voice a hymn of recklessness. The city sprawls before you, its buildings standing sentinel, waiting for your touch. You strike a match against the rough edge of existence, and the world ignites. Each structure becomes a pyre, flames licking at concrete and steel. The skyline blazes, defiant and beautiful.
“Set fire to every tree,” you command, and the forests tremble. Leaves curl, bark splits, and the ancient oaks surrender willingly. Their branches become torches, casting shadows that dance like lost memories. The forest floor crackles with fervor, and the scent of pine and cedar mingles with the promise of transformation.
“Every stranger,” you declare, and your eyes seek out faces in the crowd. They are unsuspecting, unaware of the inferno brewing within you. But you see their hidden stories—their joys and sorrows, their unspoken dreams. You touch their shoulders, and they burst into flame, their hearts ablaze with shared passion.
“Every goddamn thing you see,” you laugh, intoxicated by the wildfire you’ve become. The lampposts, the graffiti-covered walls, the forgotten alleyways—they all yield to your touch. The world unravels, threads of reality fraying as you unravel the seams of existence. You are Prometheus unbound, stealing fire from the gods and gifting it to mortals.
And still, you do not stop. The sky and the sea conspire, swapping places as if to mirror your audacity. The heavens burn cerulean, waves crashing against the sun’s molten surface. You breathe in the scorching air, taste the salt of creation, and know that this is how it feels—to be both destroyer and creator, to wield love as a weapon and a balm.
“Violent self-giving,” you murmur, tracing the contours of your own chest. The flames consume you, leaving no room for hesitation. You are a wildfire, fierce and unapologetic. The world trembles in your wake, and you revel in the chaos. There is no room for half-measures, no space for timid hearts.
“Have my heart,” you offer, your voice raw with defiance. “Do what you will with it.” Because what else do we have? In this incendiary dance, we find purpose. We burn away the mundane, leaving behind the extraordinary. And perhaps, just perhaps, the universe leans closer, curious about the mad poet who set it aflame.
So go ahead, my friend. Be the marijuana-smoking-60s-flower hippie—the one who dares to love with abandon. The world needs more of your wildfire, more of your unyielding passion. And as you exhale, remember: You are the arsonist of existence, and your heart is the match that sets it all ablaze. 🌟🔥✨
©️Beatriz Esmer
Beatriz Esmer 