lone

It just sucks when he's typing away on his phone and he tries not to smile because he doesn't want to get you all emo again but it doesn't even matter; he doesn't need to smile because you see the little glint in his eyes that says it all. That little spark is a mere hint of the blazing fire that's burning within, lighting up even the coldest corners of his heart. He tries to contain that blaze within those red walls, but no, the light spills out a little here and there, and it's reflected in his eyes.

You remember how it felt to have your heart set ablaze, too; you remember the electric fiery surge that coursed through every vein and nerve when he kissed you, you remember when the fire was an explosion of dazzling brilliance, or when it was just a candle that radiated silent warmth and love. Now all that's left are the black stone walls of your heart, a few charred logs, cold unlit streetlamps yearning for light. A cold dark street in rainy December.