I was reading Privy Trifles’ blog tonight wherein I read some lines on love by Pablo Neruda.
One that particularly caught my attention was :
To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.
It made me think about love. I believe that love is like a fire that burns inside you. A fire that gives you heat and power, a fire that radiates warmth towards the one that you love. When the fire of love burns in you, it keeps giving warmth. The fire grows more and burns longer when you feed it more, especially so if this comes from the person you love.
This also made me think about unrequited love. You keep radiating warmth, and the fire consumes all that was keeping it aflame before slowly dying down. It is still there, ready to be fed, ready to flare up again but reduced to embers. Embers. Embers that lie dormant, but one whiff of the person you loved, one thought or memory that triggers all that you once felt for them comes flooding right back in.
It’s all that is needed to flare it again. The fire is short lived, but this fire will either give warmth again but to yourself, and comfort you. Or burn you, bit by bit. Soon it is reduced to embers again, waiting for another whiff or blow to come its way. Love, unrequited.
I will leave you with another bit by Neruda:
In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.