Wildfire

Maybe it’s just the way

your heart leans toward comfort—

toward quiet things,

easy truths,

places that don’t feel like risk

or revelation.

And that’s all right.

Not every soul

is meant to wander into the flames,

not every pair of hands

is steady enough

to hold something burning.

Some hearts want gentle—

the kind of calm

that doesn’t shake their edges,

the kind of love

that never asks them

to grow,

to change,

to rise beyond who they were yesterday.

Some hearts

weren’t made

to love a wildfire—

a woman who loves fiercely,

breaks honestly,

and glows even

in her darkest moments.

A wildfire is a force—

unapologetic,

uncontained,

the kind of heat

that leaves you touched forever

even if you only stood close

for a moment.

She doesn’t smolder quietly.

She burns bright

because she has to,

because something in her

was never meant

to be small.

And if you could not stay—

if the fire felt too much,

too honest,

too alive—

that’s all right.

Not every story

is written for the flames.

But remember this:

what you left behind

will still rise,

still blaze,

still turn her own scars

into something golden.

Because that’s what fire does.

It survives,

it transforms,

it becomes.