Everyone searches for that “twinkle.” A “spark,” something that supposedly shows us that someone connects with us. Deep down, a “twinkle” is just a desperate desire to feel wanted.
We’re comparing love, (or more realistically, lust) to nature: the twinkle of the stars we see in the night sky. We gaze up into the darkness, full of thought, questions, fear, and maybe even hope. We see the twinkling of stars and somehow we feel better. We might feel smaller, insignificant. What we don’t think about is just like in lust, by the time we see that star twinkling, it has already died in space.
So what happens when that twinkle dies in the spaces of unspoken words, arguments, and doubts? Twinkles fade. Twinkles die. I want fire. I want ice. I want inevitable, undying love. Save your twinkles for someone else. Give me your fire.