Hot air. That would be a pointless thing to talk about if I don't at least make the effort to explain why I said so. It was cold outside, but a large metal canister stood abandoned under a shady tree behind my apartment complex. Strangers used it as a fire pit during the winter days and yesterday, it rose from its slumber, flames blazing from within. If you were told to sing from the stomach, then the canister spoke from the same hearth, crackling at branches of fire woods and bits of papers. "Can you hear what I'm saying?" It seemed to say, "I'll devour your regrets, your sorrow, and your ghost. Come over and talk to me."
I may have lost my mind, but there were others with me that starlit night, with things in hand such as letters, books, photographs, and more, sharing the moment of silence. It was no sacred religious event, but one of mutual understanding--the need to let go of the past. As one by one those items disappeared into the fire, promises were made for a new beginning. Some held back tears, yet the handful of us consoled them with smiles to remind them that they were not alone in this process of healing.
Hot air. And just like that, all uneasiness burnt to ashes, gone. Alright, you may have been curious as well, what on earth did I burnt that night?
Secret yo,
Vonnie S.
I may have lost my mind, but there were others with me that starlit night, with things in hand such as letters, books, photographs, and more, sharing the moment of silence. It was no sacred religious event, but one of mutual understanding--the need to let go of the past. As one by one those items disappeared into the fire, promises were made for a new beginning. Some held back tears, yet the handful of us consoled them with smiles to remind them that they were not alone in this process of healing.
Hot air. And just like that, all uneasiness burnt to ashes, gone. Alright, you may have been curious as well, what on earth did I burnt that night?
Secret yo,
Vonnie S.
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