In retrospect…

I survived.
Maybe that’s because I never really wanted to die, only to kill something within. I didn’t know there were other ways to free myself. I was unaware that I could set my shattered soul aflame and rise again; lungs billowing smoke and ash covered wings. I didn’t know I could fly. Or spit fire.

I do now.
I no longer survive.
I thrive.
But I always carry a box of matches.

Just in case.

Photo by Rostislav Uzunov on

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