Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

sometimes you go away.

A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and All manne
r of things shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire And the fir
and the rose are one.

Little Gidding, T.S. Elliot.


Burning bright

The eyes are the windows to the soul. Some eyes contain a little sparkle, while some remain lifeless. Some eyes gives off a warm feeling, while some gives off nothing.

His eyes gave off a spark. A bright spark; too eye-catching to ignore.

She would never forget the warmth in his eyes from the moment their eyes locked in an unexpected embrace.


Fists clenched and eyes damp, she stood outside her well-furnished abode. Watching the crimson orange flames consume her only hope of comfortable living, she stood rooted to that ground, unable to move.

Standing in the middle of her lawn, she glared at the smoke emerging from the windows, as if the glare would make the smoke and flames go away.

Loud sirens approached. She did not flinch at the sounds of chaotic onlookers. She did not move at all. Concentrating on the fire, she admired the beauty of her house going down.

Deep down, she was upset as it was the house she meticulously decorated. Deep down, she was frustrated that she was careless and started the fire by accident. Deep down, she was feeling helpless about how the only thing she knew to do was to run outside. Deep down, she was  appalled by how fascinated she is watching the fire take her house down.

On the outside, she appeared nonchalant. 


Someone grabbed her, and led her to safety before a part of the house exploded.

Her immediate response was to grab on to her savior tightly, her eyes shut and hands trembling. It was so sudden, so unexpected. A part of her secretly wished that she had gone down with her house, but she never said it out aloud.

The gentle words of concern came out of his mouth, distracting her from her endless train of thoughts about her ruined home. 

Still wrapped in his arms, she looked up at him. Their eyes locked for a moment. She smiled, with tears streaming down her face at the same time. 

The warmth and sincerity in his eyes glowed as he continuously asked her if she was alright. He must have noticed how she was smiling with tears like an idiot and ignored it. His persistence in getting a response was admirable.

She was not alright, at all. Her house had just been burned down, and all she wanted now was to stay in that embrace.

He was her savior. She could not thank him enough.


Snapping back to reality, she responded to his repeated question.

He helped her settle down, before leaving with his colleagues in the big red truck. Her eyes never left him for a single second.

Mesmerized by his bravery, she felt like she wanted to see him again.


She never did.

He was just a firefighter, doing his job of saving people and putting out fire when duty calls.

There had never been any form of attachment when he grabbed her in his arms to save her from the explosion.

She never understood.


She would sometimes play with fire, in hope that a big one would start and she'd have another shot at being in his embrace again.

That day never came.

Playing with fire only caused burnt fingers; and sometimes her tears would extinguish the little flame before it could get bigger.



Popular Posts