Is it not some bittersweet type of irony, that the girl with the flame hair is so afraid of fire?
It is overwhelming; a heat you can't escape. It clings to your every fibre as if it cannot bear to be apart from you and you let it, until it begins to irritate you and you finally wash it off. It takes your breath away and makes you wrap your arms around your chest and close your eyes, just briefly. It is often welcome. On a winter's night it is the warm hug you long for. It is the way you stretch your toes out and lean them closer to it and you almost count them like a child because it takes them in its hands and warms them up. It is what fills the cold, empty space beside you beneath the sheets each night. It is bittersweet and sometimes it is just bitter but sometimes, like marshmallows, it is just sweet.
And yet it's not just the fire that leaves me breathless. It is not just the fire that I'm afraid of.
- today I went and took photos with Lucy and her little sister Sophie. Then I went back out and happened across the bonfire in the field and I danced in it for awhile and I almost, almost, managed to forget how much I hate fire.