A passionate fire that burns quickly to dust or the slow flame that always seem to last.

With anger I would pretty much prefer the fire. Fast, furious and leaving fear in its wake. As if its sole purpose was to scorch its enemy to death, and then fade to nothing but ashes.

With love I want the slow flame. Warmth, welcoming and willing to stay small and silent. It could escalate to a bright burning fire with every little spice, yet cool to its original purpose without any vice. As long as we remember it does not burn without a little fuel, we can keep it on forever.

Yet in life things never go our way.

Anger is instead portrayed by the flame that bursts into outrages with just little bits of agitation, stealthy and lasting with grudges, and hatred fuels its low but omnipresence desires.

Love is instead the passionate fire that burns when lovers first meet, as if they were meant for each other from the beginnings of time, leaving bystanders green with envy. Yet it often burns faster than expected, leaving us puzzled how everything that could seem so right just a while ago, feels so wrong to our ego.

How then could we love like a slow, warmth flame, and hate like a hot, passionate fire?