Fire and Feather

where the blaze meets the breeze

He was fire.
Not the gentle hearth kind.
But wild, untamed, full of sparks and storm.
He moved like something that could burn you if you stood too close
and yet people still did.
He had that kind of gravity.

She was feather.
Drifting on the breath of invisible winds.
Light, yes — but not without direction.
She didn’t walk; she floated.
She didn’t speak much but when she did, it settled deep.
You didn’t always understand her.
You just knew you missed her when she left.

He saw her dancing once.
Not on a stage
but alone in a field, barefoot, arms wide, turning with the wind.
He stopped breathing.

She saw him watching.
Smiled.
Tilted her head.
“Are you always so... solid?”

He blinked. “You look like you might disappear.”

She laughed, soft and sudden like rain.
“I do that.”

They were not meant to mix, they thought.
He burned too bright.
She vanished too easily.

But still
he came back to that field.
And she was there.
Always just when he needed her most.
Always before he knew he needed her.

He taught her to stay.
To ground, just enough.
She taught him to let go.
To rise, just enough.

When they touched,
it was never quite clear who reached for whom first.

Sometimes she circled him, laughter trailing behind like smoke.
Sometimes he stood still, letting her land on his chest like something sacred.

They never used words like forever.
Only now.
Only here.

And in that balance
of flame and flight
they became something else entirely.

Not fire.
Not feather.

But ash that danced.
And wings that glowed.

Simona 🦋

If my poems and stories truly touch your heart,
would you consider fluttering a little magic my way
by buying me a coffee?
It helps me keep writing,
keep dreaming,
keep letting these butterfly wings of mine flutter through stardust and ink.