They were laying in the meadow by the mansion, the late night breeze fluffing up their hair, as if it wasn't messy enough already. The glowing flowers lit up the meadow just enough, just enough so that the could see her. God, she was so beautiful, so graceful, so alive. She was so alive that she was a flame. A flame that you could feel in your mouth and the pit of your stomach when she kissed you. You could feel the flames rise to your cheeks when she calls you handsome, or beatiful, or gorgeous even. When she says that she loves you, she means it, and you can feel it, burning in your cheeks and your neck, kickstarting your heart. And to be with her, to be with her was to melt like candle wax under her flame when she touched you. To melt when she said your name. They had always loved that about her.
However, they never really realized the issue.
To be loved and love a flame, you will melt like candle wax. The candle wax won't last forever, it'll eventually run out and leave a messy puddle and a charred stick.
They didn't really mind that they were melting, they were too far gone to notice.
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Author's note:
This story is about a nonbinary and a girl in love, because why not? Just to clear things up.
