i yank my hand back as an automatic reflex.

the fire is pretty and it promises beautiful things.

it’s seductive. it’s alluring. but i know better.

i can’t allow myself to be fooled again by its blazing pulchritude.

i’ve already suffered and miraculously survived its third-degree burns.

my skin still remembers.

life has been holding the torch.

i keep wondering who or what the hell i must’ve been in a past incarnation, to be deserving of such damnation.

the fire feels spiteful…but that might be a self-imposed illusion.

it has already taken so much from me; burned away so many layers of who i am, the things and people i know and love, down to the core of who i thought i was supposed to be.

who the hell am i supposed to have become, by now, anyway? am i too late?

lately i’ve been feeling more aligned, but on occasion i begin to wonder of this illusion my mind has constructed (for the sake of protection?):

where even am i, really?

maybe i need to give the flames one more chance.

maybe i’ll voluntarily walk into the blaze, but this time i’ll decide to stay.

i’ll let it burn through all my layers, again.

cleanse me of my mortal debts, and reform me into my most formidable, resilient, highest self.

maybe i’ve missed the point all along, that true detachment is the key to my long-term survival.

maybe this time i’ll let go, and accept the journey.

maybe this time i’ll emerge as the phoenix instead of the casualty.

-shan