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Three Fires

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They say a man walks through three fires in his life: love, separation and darkness. The first one, love, doesn’t save you it seduces you. It makes you soft in places you never intended. You start adjusting your edges, giving more than you take, convincing yourself that this vulnerability is strength. But it’s not. It’s dependency dressed as devotio and when she leaves or worse, starts to look at you like a stranger the burn doesn’t come from betrayal. It comes from the part of you that you gave away and never got back.

Then comes separation. Not the kind that happens in a fight or a final goodbye. No, this one's slower. Quieter. You find her name still half-formed in your mouth when you speak. Her absence becomes ritual. You replay every word, every silence, like a fool trying to edit the past. People say, "Time heals." They lie. Time doesn’t heal it dulls. You don’t move on. You carry it better, maybe. But it never stops hurting when you’re alone in a room and every inch of it still smells like her ghost.

The final fire is darkness. This isn’t cinematic. It’s not beautiful. It’s survival without feeling. You start smiling because people expect you to. You say you’re fine because you’re tired of explaining and slowly, you build a version of yourself that feels nothing but functions perfectly. They call it strength. I call it damage management and maybe I did grow the most poisonous, most brutal roses in my garden but don’t mistake that for weakness. I learned to love deep because I was never truly loved right. That kind of hunger never dies. It becomes armor.

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