XII - Visitas a deshora, segunda parte.

Here I am again, in my cave, listening to stories or memories that are hidden behind the crackling flames.
The night begins to invade everything, fog falls, covering the last of the corners.
The chairs arranged on the table, instead of surrounding the fireplace.
The flame, in all its splendor, illuminating the room, instead of being consumed by your stories, those I enjoyed listening to, even though they were not true.

My favorite childhood game, the forbidden game, now I dare not to approach them.
This time I'm alone, I have nothing to hide myself , the flames are reflected in me instead of its amber shield.
Fireproof flames devour, like time, the best of your memories, of the few that I keep, which I save.
Face to face, supporting how the fire crossed us, while the drowned windows merged with the wall.
Any hour of the morning was enough to hear a few punches at my door.
We spun the needles in my open and your close of eyes.

I try to rekindle the fire, but I burn myself. This one is more unpredictable, indomitable.

The embers are still there, latent, they could not create a flash, but they still retain heat.
The flames created the illusion of closeness, but they died everytime you left.
The fire loses its strength, but I'm not sure If I want to feed him again, my hands still keep burns.
I remain seated, mesmerized by the disorderly dancing flames, which lose musicality.
I wanted to leave the mind blank, to order my emotions, but I'm still wondering why did you decide to hear the whispers rather than my own voice. Why?