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Iggy

She's the Fire that you Fear

Don’t try to make sense of her magic.

Whatever you do, don’t reduce her to nothing more than a series of coincidences you can liquefy into meaningless qualities, so that you don’t feel guilt about letting her slip through your fingers.

 

No matter how many times you tell yourself that what you feel is a pull that isn’t worth giving into, she will still be there—the pulse within your skin, the breath on your neck and the hardness that you wake to each morning, with no chance of fulfilling it in the way that you crave to.

 

She’s magnetic and charming—all while drowning you in the sweet epiphany that they were right all along: women like her do exist.

 

Spoiler

But women like her are born to scare the hell out of men. They live their days to challenge—to make it just difficult enough to reach them, so only those who are truly worthy will get to enter their precious gates.

 

They were not born to be f*ckin’ easy, but instead to be that storm that you find yourself surrounded in—rains crashing through the burnt dry ground of the mundane, the rumbling thunder silencing everything but the sound of your name upon her moist lips, and the lightning that scorches what would have been a perfectly safe life.

 

The reality is, she’s the taste of summer upon your winter lips.

 

She’s the fullness of an expectant mother and the blooming desire that brings roses to gardens full of thorns. She’s fire, with just a little bit of ice—a woman who dreams in color, yet cries in black and white.

 

It’d be easy to pretend she was like everyone else (or at least like every woman you’ve ever had), because if that was actually the case, then you’d never have to do anything different from what you’ve always done.

 

You’d never be challenged or pushed to see that just maybe something else exists beyond what you thought was possible.

 

Yet, like the winds of change blowing blustery on a brilliant November afternoon—she’s still there.

 

Her memory, whispering hard against your subconscious, reminds you how soft she is, and how something about her just melts into you, making you give a little, so you melt too.

Because how do you forget about a woman who you can’t even begin to describe?

 

She speaks softly, knowing that she doesn’t want be heard only when she’s roaring in declaration of her latest passionate pursuit. Perhaps it’s when she speaks most closely to her heart that she whispers—knowing it’s words that not all are meant to hear.

 

Yet, perhaps you’re not scared at all.

 

Maybe you just think what you’re seeing isn’t really there—that possibly, your heart and mind have conspired against you to create a woman who doesn’t truly exist.

But the thing is, my dear sweet man—trust me when I say, she does.

 

She won’t be perfect, yet within those chaotic scribblings, beauty will still be found.

 

Somewhere between her crazy quirks and clumsy nature, you’ll fall in love—not with the painted image she projects to the world, but with the flawed rambling woman who she actually is.

 

A life that she has cultivated in privacy. She revels in not having everyone be privy to her secrets, even if at times, it looks as if she is an open book.

She may be fire, but sometimes it seems as if you are the one holding the match.

 

But none of that makes a difference, because this woman is one who holds the indescribable colors of a transparent universe within her succulent thighs. She moves with the power of a goddess and wishes to spread love wherever her bare feet travel in this life.

 

She is moonbeams, with just a dash of whiskey.

 

The reality is that if she is a fire you fear, then it’s because you don’t truly see her. If you’re still scared of who she is, and what she could represent, then perhaps you aren’t the man for her at all.

 

Because the only thing that a man who truly sees her would notice within her emerald-flecked eyes, is love.

 

The anarchy and storms, the contradictions and fears, the worry and doubt—it would all dissolve against a darkened sky under a resolve that only those who can stand the chaos are worth her magic.

 

She is a woman on fire. She is a woman whose passions spread like wings upon her luminescent skin—a woman who smells like freedom and tastes like your childhood.

 

So don’t be scared, don’t brush her off this time, and stop pretending that anything about her is too much for you.

 

You know she’s just enough—and she always has been.

 

She’s melancholy on a rainy morning, twisted bed-sheets and raindrops against the leaded windowpane.

 

She’s memories and ambitions wrapped up together, the twizzle of surrender within your bare naked soul—but more than that, she’s your heart.

 

And it doesn’t matter if you can explain her—nor does it matter if you can visualize how life with her would work—because the only thing that does matter is if you’re willing to give it enough time to develop into what could be.

 

Because sometimes, the best-laid plans end up disappointing us in their somber and bitter reality—while at other times, it’s those things we jump into—feet first, with our eyes closed—that end up becoming the very thing we needed all along.

 

So, while she may be fire—deep down you know that you’d never be burned by her flames, because (and perhaps the secret is) you burn just as hot.

And maybe—just maybe—that is what you’ve needed to realize all along.

 

She's the Fire that you Fear

Skeezix the Cat likes this

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She might be crazy or she might be magic, there's no lie in her fire


Now they know why they fear the Perfection. Now they know why they're afraid of the Dark.
 

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