There is me.
It’s a flame. Me is a deep burning fire capable of holding space for great, gulping pain.
It cries out to the night sky with wonder eyes, “Look at all the stars!”
My fire needs a cozy home, one whose walls I’ve built not to keep everyone out, but to protect against sharp gusts of wind.
You know who you are. Or maybe you have no freaking idea.
Parts of the walls are hard and unyielding, others soft and porous.
I thought a long time about building my house, until one day there was no other way to live.
My fire was a flicker and to love myself I had to figure out how bricks and stone and leaves and sticks might fit together for a while.
You might never be allowed in.
Or I might invite you for tea sometime. But just for a bit.
Some of you will build your own houses. These are the best kind of people.
Then we can each leave and meet somewhere together, out in the glorious day.
But this is my house. This is me inside. The flame that I won’t let go out.
And I’m not.
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