The first burn barely registered as I watched the sparks filter seamlessly through the strands, consuming and destroying years of an adherence, a solitude, a stand. Now obsolete. A beautiful irony. A guise.
In contrast, the choking heat left me breathless, the fog refining a clarity that settled my eyes on a fallen dream that lay before me. My face in the sweeping breeze, I wonder whether I was wrong. I take a deep breath and turn away from my dying resolve.
The last burns like no other. It is a desire so deep that once sated, it rises again to the surface. Never fully complete. A rekindled fire of shadows flickering in the light. Fine-tuned on repeat.
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