Fire

Dry, dead leaves and twigs are piled high, filling the dark hole in the earth,
alongside crumbled newspapers holding tales of the week's misery.
The pile is cold, lifeless.
It can't breathe. The colors are merely brown, grey, and black.
It's missing something.
It's missing everything.
A lit match somehow finds it's way into the mound of rubbage.
Suddenly, the dead pile has new life.
Born again.
The newspapers, filled with horrible stories from the past vanish into a pile of ash.
They no longer matter.
Flames roar and dance, intertwining and wrapping their arms around one another.
It's hot, passionate, fast, furious.
It goes on for quite some time, providing warmth to all that surrounds it.
Golden happiness.
But even the happiest of things don't last forever.
The fire begins to slowly die, transforming into a tiny pile of glowing embers.
They're still warm and they have the potential to grow again, but the passion is gone.
Right now, there's a chance that it could burn out completely.
I don't want it to.
Rekindle the flame!
I want fire. I want to burn forever.



Today felt like a good day to start fresh with everything. I've erased all my old blogs in hopes of "cleaning my slate", burning those newspapers. True, it won't change the things that have happened, but I don't need a constant reminder of them either. Here's to indulging in creativity. Why complain when I can create art instead?