My love was the fire and you were the fuel. Every bit of you made the flames higher, larger, and more powerful than ever. But soon it stopped. My fire died down to almost nothing. You stopped giving me the fuel that raged my fire, and suddenly I was nothing. Nothing more than pitiful ashes on the cold hard ground. But there were still sparks. My love was still there after all you did to me. Tell me, why do we love the ones that hurt us the most? Why won’t the fire go away?