As I thought about her house burning, Wendy climbed into the bed beside me and cuddled.

“You know, I haven’t thought about it, but your house burning was very powerful.” I whispered to her hair.

“Mmhmm.” Her voice was soft, like a purr against my chest.

“The flames would have reached thirty feet, easy, if the firemen hadn’t been there, dousing it.”

“Don’t think about those men Charlie, Think about the fire. How it sang!”

“It sang for you?”

“Yeah, it danced to it’s own song, a roaring, white-noise, that ebbed and flowed, like water.”

“You saw it dance? Fire always dances for me.” This realization was revelatory. I laid in stunned silence. Wendy and I shared a moment! She understood the fire.

“That’s why I love you, Charlie. You’re sensitive, and a great listener, especially to fire.”

She knew exactly what to say. She inched up to look into my face, giving me a soft smile. “Kiss me,” she breathed.

I did.

She was soft, and warm, like a small fire herself. Images of flames danced in my brain.