A bright, powerful, raging flame.
That flame is designed to burn and spread.
So, it is met with fear—contained, controlled, and extinguished.

Creating orders to always:
Maintain the concrete box around the fire, stoking its flames as intended.

Lavish in the heat exuded from the tiny air holes provided.

Withhold fuel.

Pour water on its red-hot embers to seek amusement in the sizzle and steam.

And most importantly, keep the knowledge of its power a secret—don’t let fire know it’s fire!

But fire will always do what it is meant to do—even if it lingers among embers, conserving energy.

Unrestrained, fire embraces its natural design—boundless, exuberant, transformational.

Some may see only destruction in the flames,
but fire brings creation just as much as it brings ruin.

Only fire determines its true purpose.

Sparks ignite to share light and warmth,
providing and transforming—not just to consume, but to sustain life itself.

I planned for control,
planted smaller flowers and mellow vegetables—
safe, tame, and predictable.
Like the way I trick myself
into settling for less, in my life,
than the wildness I truly crave.

But those wildflowers—
they grew on their own,
surviving seasons
I didn’t tend to them.
They outlasted my doubts
and outgrew all my plans.

I almost pulled them from the ground,
dismissing their potential
for survival—
a plan that was just a way to get by,
hoping for the best.

Yet here they are:
a reminder to make space,
to trust what grows unseen.
Dreams, like wildflowers,
can seem untamed and inconvenient,
but they hold the beauty
and strength we need most.

Without them,
the cucumbers would have nothing to grasp,
the bees would leave,
and I’d miss the hundreds of blooms
that make it all worth it.

Like they always say, “You will forget you chose this.”
You will wander far just to go search for yourself again.
But it’s this exploration that will reinvigorate you.

You will exist again.
The blur will clear slowly, and subtly you will start to notice things again.
Beauty will return to your world in the simplest ways at first.
Then, you will train your mind to seek out the complex.

Of course, hindsight will be 20/20—
Once you have cleared a path through the bramble, you will easily turn around and look back to where you came from with clarity.

I know your world is trying to convince you otherwise, but this was not your fault.
Your only responsibility was to grow up, and that’s what you did; that was ALL you did.
You will understand morality and love more than the adults in your life, but this will also never be your fault.
You will feel this truth deep down inside your core, even when the rest of your being wants to extinguish that belief.

You are charismatic, creative, intelligent, magnetic, unique, and so much more. Who wouldn’t fall in love with all of that? This will also never be your fault, but they will try to blame you anyway.
You will try to hide all of these beautiful things because you will believe you are the source of their sin.

One day, you will offer yourself the grace they forced you to give him.
You will see the truth of what he tried to take from you, rather than the sainthood he tried to wear.
For now, you will only feel it—a quiet unease, a whisper of your truth waiting to be heard.

When you want to quit because the emptiness is too much to bear, look inward, and you will feel a longing, like a rogue thread you can’t quite locate—let that be your guide.

Slowly, you will find yourself and bury all of your old beliefs.
Then, one day, you will grow the most breathtaking flowers from these experiences and live in pure awe of their magnificent blooms.

I gathered everything that I was and locked you away in a box.

I hurled the key as far as I could off the edge of my sanity — sending it out into the vast universe, with all of your accompanying memories.

I prayed I would never have to see you again.

And then, I left you there.

————————————————————

Years pass until one day someone walks by, not for the first time, but this is the time that matters because of everything that comes next.

Just a tiny graze and just a whisper of a breeze is all that is felt as they brush past… but it vibrates all of the shattered pieces inside of me.

Instead of hearing the cacophony of ugly noise I’ve grown accustomed to, I hear a soft and blissful sound emanating from my broken mess.

The melody resounds inside of my being filling me with an old sensation.

I’m not the only one who hears the sweet sound.

I notice the stranger noticing, as they ask,
“Is this yours?”
Holding up a beautiful key.

It looks like something I would cherish, but it isn’t something I recognize.

“Sorry, that isn’t mine,” I swear to him.

————————————————————

I accidentally walk past him again and again, but then it quickly turns into on purpose.

I can’t get enough of the sweet sound that erupts from my mess when he walks by.

I wish he could just keep walking by, letting his breeze make my melody sing.

I just want to relish in the intoxicating music as long as possible.

That’s all I’m here for, I promise.

And yet he stops and pulls out the key exclaiming, “I know this belongs to you! I found it and have held onto it in hopes that I would find the owner someday.”

“That is a spectacular key! Again, sadly, it’s not mine. I don’t even have anything to unlock!” I try my best to convince him.

Why does he insist on giving me this key that is not mine?

Yes, it’s divine and it does seem oddly familiar, but it couldn’t be mine.

I’m not the type of person who would have such an ornate key.
And if I even HAD a key, mine could not be so extraordinary.

But damn, how I wish that was my key, so fucking badly.

————————————————————

Someday I want a key like that for my own.

I can slowly forage around and find the materials I need to make it.

Possibly one day I will try to forge a key of my own… it would be so nice if I did.

Maybe I will.

Here he comes again, now with a chain around his neck wearing the key proudly.

The way he displays it, the key appears even more brilliant and tantalizing.

As if my staring makes the key grow too warm on his chest, he lifts it and says “Please take it, the key is yours. I know it is yours. I know that YOU know it is yours!”

“Why do you care so much? Why is it so important you find the owner?” I plead.

He asked, “Don’t you see, it has a match?”

Revealing from his opposite hand a larger, just as striking key.

“It matches mine.”

Then I remember the girl I locked in the box and I run to free you immediately.

There you are.