When you first touched me, it burned and I liked it. It felt like a bolt of electricity streaming through my veins. Waves of shock reviving through my lungs. Restoration of life given back from God’s right hand. I swore you were an angel. Little did I know the devil had his own plans. As if the devil himself reeked havoc upon us, cursing us with fire, scars bore proof birthing the epitome of our love. Brokenness. How sensational can a love be leaving behind damnations of weakness, torment, and acidic love? Nevertheless, I needed more of you. With each visit, I forced your hands to hold me, forced your lips to kiss me, forced your love to stay. But it burned, so bad. It burns. Third degree. Life-threatening. I needed air. How can a love so deep burn so eternally, I’d question. How can I heal? That’s why I must let you go. For the scars to heal, the pain to cease. I must let you go because our love feels like fire.