twelve-thousand weights off my shoulders

I only hope they are truly lifted, rather than hovering a few inches, weights prepared to drop at a seconds notice.

I only hope you will tell me when i am a little too much, when your glass of me is about to overfill so we can avoid that big mess that no amount of paper towels can properly clean up; a mess better dealt with by blowing noses into tissues.

No more tissues, aside from those used to mop up joyful tear drops.
Sometimes it takes quite a bit to keep both of us from weeping, but that's the way we work. We are not a machine. We cannot oil ourselves up and expect everything to run smoothly. We have to macgyver around the kinks and jump through hoops. Let's keep looking on the bright side though, we have all of the necessary tools and our hoops aren't burning.

As far as the other flame goes, every fire burns brighter with a little kindling, i think we had that today. Now, we all know a fire cannot survive on this alone. As long as we tend to the flame, we can keep it lit. We just have to be careful. If we let it go out again, it could be raining, or there may be no matches in sight.

I now really see quite clear why love can be referred to as a flame. The warmth from the first initial burst. The cold when wind storms blow through. The fear of stepping too close to the fire. Most importantly, the fear of letting it go out. Any fire or flame or love can be trampled out. Any fire or flame or love or spark can be stopped in it's track.

Not every love has two attendees, guarding and watching the flame, tending to withering sparks and illuminating the night sky with orange flames licking the darkness. I am proud of us, to see our hands intertwined around gasoline cans and an abundance of firewood. We just need to make sure we use what we have.