In this realm, many a wounded individual exists, hearts torn by betrayal, war, stress and strife. They turn about, and seek earthly comforts, for they are easiest; drink, herbs, mushrooms- and then they see a flower. One so beautiful it coats everything rose-tented. They cannot help themselves, because they see this flower and they make their entire world alright- makes the pain acceptable. They claim that this, this is a sign of healing. They lust after their kindness as they have none more. They claim, that this is love. This flower, oftentimes has no idea what they're getting themselves into, or worse, they see a damaged individual, and their kindness and naïveté will take off. "I can fix this person!" they claim. They do not know how wrong they are, for one cannot fix another in this way, not while they are wounded in this way. Love, is like a fire. In moderation and when upkept, it warms your home, touches all aspects of one's life, provides important reminders. When left alone, it spirals out of control, destroying all caught in it. The two (gods willing, only them) find themselves after the blaze of emotion, unkept deeply unhappy with each other, and likely themselves. For now, the flower, has been burnt to a stem. There is no more beauty left over, as the wounded one's blood had consumed it all. If only the wounded one had looked inward first, they might have seen that all they needed was time to heal- to learn, once more, how to love themselves.