I found her lying in the river bed on a blanket of ash.
A flurry of dust and embers circling above and around her.
She was still. Her hair, a stream of mahogany, draped across her olive face,
a grace I had never before seen.
Her eyelashes fluttered as I toed closer to her, laced with pearls.
She had been crying.
I gathered soft leaves, pastel tones, the shade of her heart, and wiped
the web of tears and dirt from her face.
“Why are you crying?”
“I care too much, and it whittles me down to the wind. I am thinned by love.”
She rolled her eyes from the dirt, up to meet my own.
“Why are you comforting me?”
she was weathered and pale, her voice was
but a breeze.
“I do not want love to leave the world.”
Her eyes softened and her skin began to glow.
Her hands swept across my face like fire and left me, for a moment, blind.
“Listen.”
I plucked my ears to the air and waited.
Through the blanket of darkness I began to hear a harp.
It did not come to me through sound, though I could hear it.
It came in whispers and strings of gold.
It danced and twirled before us and leapt inside of me.
I was aflame. A swirling mass of colour, an orchestra on fire.
“Love can set the flames on us, but I will not fly from it.
I am protected by love, and yet am mauled by it.
Love is dangerous, and it is home.
I will love you though the fear of burning haunts me.
And with love we will make the world beautiful again”
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