The fire cleaned my life of a past that, according to its nature, had ceased to exist long ago. Yet I, in my foolishness, kept it as if it were worth leaving it in my present. It only acted as a tugging rope, pulling me back and sinking me into the shadow of something finished.
One day she asked me why everyone had left, and I didn't know how to answer. Today I saw it clearly, the fire cleansed my life and also spoke to me.
"They left so that you could be here, my muse." ―I said in a whisper, and I don't know if she listened.
That's what I do these days:
Cleaning and preserving what is good for me now.
Releasing burdens.
And perhaps, unwittingly, I became a pyromaniac.
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Feels so good burning the past!
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🔥
Have you ever let the fire swallow something from your past?
