You’re struggling to carry the heat
of what I left behind.
Each memory is a spark
that refuses to go out.
You let it settle where it wants.
Your skin flinches.
Fire isn’t personal.
It burns what it will.
It presses against the parts of you
that cannot understand me.
You fold.
I do not enjoy this.
It is not vengeance.
It is compassion, in the way the body can be cruel
without meaning to be.
Perhaps one day you will understand.
Perhaps not.
The point is not to see it now,
but to feel it, quietly,
and walk forward.
And when the ache subsides,
you will carry something lighter,
or heavier,
depending on how you measure it.
I do not name the rising.
It will happen, anyway.
About the Creator
Tina D. Lopez
I’m just a human trying to make it in this world. I write about heartbreak, loneliness, longing, anger, family—all the things I can’t seem to leave alone. Everything I write is about me, even when it’s about someone else.
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