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, and I will live happily. I survive it by burn the scars with embers and have my own fire works inside of me.
It's hot and blinding and dangerous, but it's beautiful. It was that time I understand how fire works, that's why those beautiful popping flower in the sky called fireworks, 'cause that's how fire exactly works.

For those flames had died long ago, so I have new pencils and paper, for it made by the wood to start and fuel the new fire for the next moment that'll come, and they are coming.

What I was trying to say was, the old me, the old thing I have, are gonna be just it. Now, I will have and all be ready for new things. I am ready to fire the new woods! You'll understand.

I would be sorry for a long ass post, but then, no. I would better thank you for still reading it regarding the long and messy writing about the hell I dunno what I was typing, rather that be sorry for saying out what happened inside of me.

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