Archive of Our Own

I have grown weary

My work is done

A flame once bright turned to ash

I want to work, but my work is done.

I want to pour out every ounce of energy, but the glass overflows.

I want the flame to burn, but it itself has grown weary.

Flames don’t burn without fuel.

I have the fire starter, but lack the wood to keep it burning.

My tree no longer bears wood, yet still I keep asking more of it.

I am the lighter and she is the tree, grown weary of my asks.

I want a large fire but the quaking aspen cannot provide, 

I burn, 

Burn, 

Burn, 

But fluid is still left.

I must search for a tree that can support my fire, 

Though I fear what happens to the neglected aspen.

Does she understand my struggle?

Does she feel the same; my lighter too much for her fuel?

I must let go, she will move on,

But what will I do without a fire for time?

Is an inadequate fire not better than no fire?

Will I ever find fire again?