Fireworks
Firstly, I could start a long long long essay about how this fire started to burn inside of me; how all of those thoughts contemplating inside of me and lit that one ember that turned everything into raging flame. But, no. I won't let myself back to those times ever again. No. Now it's another story and the fireplace is dusted. That fire was in the past. The nights they lit up was sorrowful and tearful. It illuminated nothing but my own monsters. The old me would probably pour litres of water to the flame only to be foolishly startled at the blare I cause myself. But if I was to change, the newer version of me would probably pour gasoline to the fire only to watch it turns into raging flame, and dance along the light. All night long if I have to. I want to enjoy the mess that I have inside of me. Well, it would have been that way if I was more likely the old me. But that was an old story. The fire had died long ago, and the smoke don't choke me anymore. I'm healing...