Fire

It's been a heavy week, and most of my energy has been invested in something I never wanted to do. It's going into a burning building to save a child - my own child. No one in their right mind would want to do it: I would have done anything to avoid it.

But once the fire has been lit in a dark corner and fed, once it spreads beyond the curtains to the walls and ceiling, the options are reduced pretty quickly.

So, I go in.

I try to hold on to her, not to lose her in the chaos or be distracted by the crumbling remains of what was our home. I try to make my arms around her, my voice in her ear more real and more lasting, somehow bigger and more present to her, than the flames that threaten to consume her. I try to shield her eyes, to keep her head buried in my shoulder. God, don't let her see the fire.

I hope that we both make it out. I pray that I can find a way to cover her, and that the scars that will be had will be on my body, and not on hers.

I hope that I can find the door.

I hope that, eventually, I can find a place for her to rest that isn't in danger of being burned down again. And I hope that when we get there, the memory of the flames won't keep her from sleeping. I hope that she doesn't grow up to just exist, waiting until the next fire, assuming it's only a matter of time before someone starts another one. I hope she finds safety, and I hope she can recognize it and let herself go in it when she does.

I hope.



I'm off for the weekend, to try and get my bearings, to find some clean air to breath, to create something beautiful and to be with people I love. I'll see you on Monday.