The fire or the Match

Tell me honestly—

Was I the one who walked through the fire, skin kissed by smoke, learning every lesson the hard way?

Or was I the one holding the match, setting light to something neither of us expected to burn?

With every twist, every chase, every almost and maybe, I keep returning to the same question.

Did you stay because the hours were empty, because I was simply there to fill the silence between your days?

Or did I ignite something in you?

Something that made your pulse hesitate, made ordinary moments linger, made you look twice when once would have done?

I can carry the truth, whatever it may be.

Just tell me—

Was I a passing spark that disappeared with the wind,

or the fire you still remember the warmth of long after the flames were gone?