Time goes, we stay.

Because it seems long. And I’m just so tired. Every day, I’m tired. I’m tired of the scars, tired of how I can see what about me has changed for the worse. And soon I’m going to be far away. And when I am, that world that I grew so accustomed to is going to fade away. And I’m going to fear it.

And in that fear comes a great uncertainty; will I be up for the challenge? Or will I fold into nothingness and merge into the abyss.

Maybe the best thing I can do is be kind. Just be kind. And honest. And hope that somehow that kindness and honesty will stir me into awakening my own need to find my own worth.

Because before the fire, there was only misery and darkness. And then I was shown a glimpse of light. I reached for it but I burned myself. And because I didn’t say I was burnt, I exited quietly. And then when I saw another light on the horizon, I ran towards it.

But that light burnt with such frivolousness that my skin remembered. I continue to see it in any mirror that shows it to me.

And then I exit the endless grief, and there lies a candle, with a burning wick of such furiosity that it draws my gaze.

And it breaks me. Such a gentle flame. Not asking for anything. No firewood, no mulch. It continues its burning existence to bring vibrance to a stale room.