Love is like a flame. Not because it burns bright--not symbolic of passion. Love is like a flame because while it's burning, it's beautiful. Breathtaking. Enchanting. You can't look away, and for some reason you just want to reach out and touch it: even though you'll know you'll end up burned.

And like a fire, when love is snuffed out and dying--there's smoke that chokes you and makes your eyes water. You can't breathe, and that's how you die. When people die in fires, it's not usually because they burn to death: but because they asphyxiate on smoke.

Love is  beautiful when it lasts. But when love ends, it's bittersweet and ugly. There's nothing beautiful about losing love--about any type of love, not just romantic love. There's nothing beautiful or poignant about heartbreak.

But there is beauty in memory--in remembering how lovely that fire glowed.