There is not an article of clothing, a vacation souvenir, a random memento, a book, a cd, a card, even a text, that, having once meant something to me, does not mean something to me now. I have pressed a flower from every bouquet that was ever given to me by someone I cared about. I have jars of seashells, each representing a day spent at the beach. I still have the same pair of Guess jeans I wore in college, when ripped jeans were man-made and not mass produced.
First of these things I’d grab in a fire? I’d probably burn to the ground while trying to decide, though in the end they are just things, and, despite any reluctance I might have to face the fact that things are just things and are ultimately disposable.
You were made from dirt, nurtured in chaos, you are meant for more than submission. Your organs, your soul, the marrow in your bones know that you were meant for so much more.
Sometimes, you’ll have to fight for the dream that no one sees but you. Not everyone needs to understand what sets your heart on fire.
*For day 9, #theloveletterproject
I’m sorry I was raised to be fire. But the thing about a fire is you cannot put it out unless you kill it. You can knock the breath out of me, but I will be burning until my very. last. one. This is me. I will always be illuminating. And i shall fall in love with all of the rubble I have destroyed and all the forests that have ignited my being. But at night, I dream of fireproof vests and midnight picnics and what we did not become.
*As requested by @soshiniesingh for #bemymuse no. 14
I was taught to run away from flames,
from the lambent sparks that dance naked
on my skin when we touch, those tiny flickers
foretell a future of wildfires.