Because nothing is better for a metaphor than fire
I used to be an unlit match stick, in my simple design I held so much potential. You struck me alive against your hand with your first kiss.
As a young lit match, I yearned to grow. The small flicker that was my existence was fragile but ambitious. You built a pit of dry leaves, twigs, logs and gasoline. Amongst those things were a few unspoken promises and unknown desires.
With mindful hands, you led me to the pit you made for me and let me loose. I soon became a full blown flame, surging with power and eagerness.
But instead of you staying with me as I grew, you took a step back. You left me raging and ubrideled, with no sense of restriction. When you should have stayed to teach me restraint, to keep me in the bounds of the pit, you backed away in awe of the natural disaster you let loose.
And a disaster I am becoming. With your back turned, you will never see the wildfire that I will become and you will never hear the destruction that I will do.
[only you can prevent out of control passion]
As a young lit match, I yearned to grow. The small flicker that was my existence was fragile but ambitious. You built a pit of dry leaves, twigs, logs and gasoline. Amongst those things were a few unspoken promises and unknown desires.
With mindful hands, you led me to the pit you made for me and let me loose. I soon became a full blown flame, surging with power and eagerness.
But instead of you staying with me as I grew, you took a step back. You left me raging and ubrideled, with no sense of restriction. When you should have stayed to teach me restraint, to keep me in the bounds of the pit, you backed away in awe of the natural disaster you let loose.
And a disaster I am becoming. With your back turned, you will never see the wildfire that I will become and you will never hear the destruction that I will do.
[only you can prevent out of control passion]