If You Were To Write To Me

I'm sorry for holding the flame just close enough for you to constantly feel the heat.
And I'm sorry I slip sometimes and inch even closer to burn you.
I never thought the flame would have stayed lit for this long.
How could I have known?

I remember standing in that blizzard, watching it dim in the wind.
We were as sad as humanly possible while we assumed it would be out by morning.
The snow should have eaten the flame whole.
How could I have known?

A decade's worth of heat and ash and soot rests in our hands, but our fingers never touch.
Our hands have both become callused but mine for different reasons than yours.
The universe was telling you one thing and me another.
How could I have known?

There's this pain that rivals the loss of a family member and I've felt both recently.
It just doesn't seem fair. I know you would take it all away if you could.
I try to let myself understand but it's hard to do so while you've already taken so much.
How could I have known?

After the first few years the hurt became bearable, like it was just another part of life.
You weren't even fueling the fire. You weren't supposed to, I wouldn't let you.
The snow failed, the wind gave up, our hands were a fortress, a castle.
How could I have known?

You were the drawbridge and the walls, and I, the princess safely inside.
You took arrow after arrow, waiting it out while enemies and friends alike tried to lay siege to this castle.
I am sorry, but I am too terrified to scan your body, inside and out, for the marks and wounds that were inevitably my doing.
How could I have known?