Things I Found

When writing sifts through whatever anchors the weight in my breath, I oftentimes let need crown one above the rest. Here I begin: The fire outside subdued the fire within. Passions beaten into submission by loss. Still— held in check by the water stifling the blaze, gutting my house. Hmm, my house. Mine. Me. The wet soot familiar in a way I did not expect. Cool. Comforting in the debris. I and the soot know ending. Blackened walls, merged, resolute to not fall. Still standing—brittle. Still standing—hollow. Still standing—useless. Still standing—me. The black cake beneath my feet marks a path of many circles, looping, going nowhere in particular. Measuring space more than time. Residual smoke forcing its way inward— the burn, the cough, enough. A golden flicker partly hidden under the black carpet calls for notice. The medal remained unscathed on the victorious walls. Still standing—scarred. Still standing—resolved. Still standing— Me.