Campfire

You are a campfire.

I know you won’t be certain how to take that, but I mean it as a compliment. It’s meant to be something you can smile at. I don’t always turn love interests into metaphors, but sometimes it’s too obvious to ignore it. Sometimes I blink and expect your eyes to be ablaze. Sometimes I could use your warmth on the chilly nights and rainy days. 

You’re a campfire because your soul is bright and you leave me wanting more. You’re a campfire and I’ll rebuild you after every flood and every storm. I can watch you for hours and never tire of your many faces. You’re a campfire because your smile is warm, and you’re inviting. My friends are all drawn to you, too. They can see the way you cast light on my strengths, and they’re quick now to fan the flames. They want what’s best for me, and you could be best for me.

I’m sure you think I’m crazy for writing you this way. A campfire? I doubt anyone has called you that before. Not as a joke, not as a metaphor. But let me just say before you go ignoring it: I call you a campfire – campfires are my favorite.

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