I hate fire.
I hate it so much I have already prayed to God to spare me the nightmare of physically being touched by it in this life or the next. I hate it so much I have already asked Him to take me in my sleep when the time comes.
I am warming up to the little shit, however. Fire, I mean.
I found these tea light candles in one of the drawers in the kitchen last year and lit one of them up. I felt the flame purifying – the air around me, me.
It made me think of the different people in my life who had up to that point shone a light on parts of me I did not know I had or did not want to know I had.
Many parts of me I still do not want to know I have – and this fucking fire keeps burning.
Perhaps fire is actually meant to not make you burn.
Perhaps people are not actually meant to make you burn either.