Firebug, you started with a tiny glow, from between my palms. Something I could take solace in while I was sulking in the dark. It wasn’t overly-optimistic… just friendly and realistic. Sometimes during working hours, when the blinds were open, and my head was buried in mundane tedium — it was hard to make you out, but you never turned out the light. After a while, I notice that you started to spark. It was quite a sight. So, I fed you with small scraps of paper, little notes of encouragement to let you know, that I wasn’t afraid to watch you grow. A spark ignited into a flame. So, I added some firewood to the menu paired with a lighter-fluid cocktail. Now you’re really on fire… and there’s nothing more that I desire… than to throw myself on the pyre. I could just smolder here a while — as you burn higher and higher — and I’m consumed by my affection for you.