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I feel so lonely... to the point where I'm missing the flame that once scorched my skin. As I stare at the scars I can't help but remember the warmth that the flame once brought with it. The pain, the damage and the scars all seem so miniscule compared to that warmth. Now I'm left with burnt flesh and ash in the remnants of what once was, toiling away at my own mind wondering how I could have avoided getting burned while still embracing the flame's warmth... despite all the pain and anguish I still do miss the flame and the warmth it once provided... but those days are gone and that flame has long since been snuffed out leaving behind nothing but damage, regret and questions...
so many questions....
why must I yearn for my own detriment? why must I love the feeling of the flame's warmth? why can't I let go in spite of my best efforts? will it ever get easier?
I know one thing for certain, in the absence of the flame is a bitter cold that chills me to the bone waiting for the flame to ignite once more
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