Forest Fire

My silence congratulated by your solitude. 
My words watered down once hitting your ear.
My muffled screams softening with watered hands. 
I began inhaling water mistaking it for air. I believed I was breathing, until I could no longer bare. 
For the water and wind became indistinguishable. What felt like a gust, flowed like a stream. What calmness appeared with the ocean, felt like a breeze.
In those moments I learned that I was fire.
And although I rapidly grow, with wind and water I smother.
I fed myself so much I began to cover the forest. 
She held me so tightly as if my flames weren’t leaving their traces. 
She whispered my embers with her leaves grace, as she pleaded “you are not fire, you are light.”
I showed her the gradience of my flames and explained that even fire can appear bright when darkness is a friend.