The intensity of his eyes used to glow whenever that fighting spirit would blare up into his soul. His crimson, angelic eyes, shown through a powerful form, ignited my core as my heart pounded beneath my chest. His fire was like no other; it intoxicated, thrilled me.
It inspired me.
Then, as if the fire never existed, it rained. The water weakened his flame, his heart, his entire being. It tricked slowly, suffocating him and his once vibrant spirit. The water and the rain went away, but his dramatic recession did not. The flame had died to, practically non-existent; his once crimson eyes dulled to the point of irreversible darkness. I had never lost my flame, my burning heart for him. I hoped that it would ignite him once again, but my efforts were fruitless.
The fire had gone to ashes.