The Soul of fire

I stare into the fire, watching the flames dance and flicker. The warmth feels good on my face, but it does not reach my heart. I feel cold and empty inside, as if I have nothing left to live for.

I think back to my life, and how it all went wrong. I had a good childhood, with loving parents and a happy home. I was smart and talented, and I had big dreams for the future. I wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, a writer, or anything that would make a difference in the world.

I worked hard in school, and I got good grades. I made friends, and I had fun. I met a girl, and I fell in love. She was beautiful and kind, and she made me feel alive. We got married, and we had a son. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. He had his mother’s eyes and my smile, and he was smart and curious and full of joy.

I had everything I ever wanted, and I was happy. I thought I had it all figured out, and nothing could go wrong. But I was wrong. So very wrong.

It started with the accident. I was driving home from work, when a drunk driver ran a red light and hit me. I survived, but I was badly injured. I broke my leg, my arm, and several ribs. I had a concussion, and I lost a lot of blood. I spent weeks in the hospital, and months in rehab. I had to learn how to walk again, how to use my hand again, how to do the simplest things again.

But the worst part was not the physical pain, but the emotional one. I lost my job, because I could not work anymore. I lost my income, because I had no savings or insurance. I lost my dignity, because I had to depend on others for everything. I lost my confidence, because I felt useless and worthless. I lost my happiness, because I felt guilty and angry.

I blamed myself for the accident, even though it was not my fault. I blamed myself for being a burden to my wife and son, even though they loved me and supported me. I blamed myself for ruining their lives, even though they assured me that they were happy with me.

I became depressed, and I pushed them away. I isolated myself, and I shut them out. I drank, and I smoked, and I took pills. I tried to numb the pain, but I only made it worse. I became addicted, and I lost control. I hurt them, and I hurt myself.

I lost my wife, because she could not take it anymore. She filed for divorce, and she took our son with her. She said she still loved me, but she could not live with me. She said she wanted me to get help, but she could not help me. She said she hoped I would find peace, but she could not give it to me.

I lost my son, because he did not understand. He was only seven years old, and he did not know what was wrong with me. He asked me why I was sad, why I was angry, why I was not there for him. He asked me why I did not love him, why I did not want him, why I did not care for him. He asked me why I was not his daddy anymore.

I lost everything, and I was alone. I had no home, no family, no friends, no purpose. I had nothing to live for, and nothing to die for. I had nothing at all.

I stare into the fire, and I see my life burning away. I see the flames consume my past, my present, and my future. I see the ashes of my dreams, my hopes, and my regrets. I see the smoke of my memories, my feelings, and my thoughts.

I stare into the fire, and I wonder what is the point of it all. I wonder why I was born, why I lived, and why I suffered. I wonder if there is a meaning, a reason, or a plan. I wonder if there is a God, a fate, or a destiny. I wonder if there is anything beyond this fire, this life, this world.

I stare into the fire, and I contemplate life. And I find no answers. Only questions. And silence.