The sparks from the fire alert me with their out of bounds invasion. They have no fear, no with-holding, and no concern. They want to break free, so they break free. They want to live, so they live. They want to be heard, seen, and felt, and yes, I hear, see, and feel them, all around me, in my face, on my skin, and in my ears. This fire’s presence is known and without reservations. Was I depressed this day? I am not sure, I wasn’t too sure of many things. I found myself escaping, alone before the fire; finding warmth for my soul and solace for my bruised heart. The night before I had set my tears, pain, and heart on the six strings of my guitar and sang the melody of loss and bitterness. Today, wearing the same clothes in the parking lot of the future of possibilities, I stared out in despair over the steering wheel of my dad’s Ford pick-up truck. Everything, every second, every breath wore the shade of gray in which no peace, hope, or future breathed. It was the aftermath, the reality, the impossible with outstretched arms, gripping mine, waiting to twirl me around and to live within it for eternity. My new friend, my old company, my familiarity. As I twirled, conquered, in my slept in clothes, spinning in hypnotic abstraction, as the gray rejoiced in my defeated presence, I fell down dizzy, discombobulated. My face on the gray ground, perceiving the gray matter was all that mattered, for in this state of ruin, I longed to be fearless, with no reservation, to break free, and to live without hesitation.
Image Credit: After the rain, by Robert Louis Ferrucci