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.
Through the Fog 