I don’t need much to build a fire and kindle it strong so that it’s hotly lit in no time. I will bask in that light, dance around the flame. But I have been frivolous with intimacy, dismissive of potential. I might forget to feed the blaze, sometimes I simply run out of fuel. Enough time without me and the embers fade to cold. I regret that I let [you, maybe] go up in smoke. I will not again be so careless with a spark. I imagine new beginnings with less flare. Not immediately warming perhaps, but full of promise. I picture myself more patient, quiet so that I might witness the growth of intimate moments. The slow burn of tended trust.