I have always assumed this love would end tragically. It's the chance I've taken falling in love with an impulsive, fatalistic, bipolar depressive (who happens to have an endless number of loveable, admirable qualities). I've always imagined a fiery death. Not necessarily an actual fire, but all the drama a fiery death implies. And me, left here on this earth wthout him.

We have finally reached the foreshadowed (I refuse to believe I manifested this) fiery death scene. But, by some strange twist of events, I think we can move forward from the drama, the wreckage, and the death of only parts of the man. The parts that needed to be killed we gladly feed into the flames, and we're clinging tightly to the raw goodness, love, and positive aspects of our relationship.

The first part we will kill is the one that has been saying since day one that he will only hurt me.
The second part to kill will be the one that has never felt worthy or deserving of my love. The self doubt and self loathing HAVE to go. Those two alone, gone, will remove the bulk of negativity hanging over us- those two that doomed our chances, and ultimately, became a self fulfilling prophecy.

I could speak of the phoenix, but these particular thoughts and ideas were borne from a recent desire to burn up the past. I have the strongest urge to put old papers into the sink and light them, as if I were 18. I'm not even sure what old papers, but in my mind I actually have enough for a bonfire. A big winter bonfire. Clearing the way for a fresh, clean start.