I am unsure of where to begin. However I do know that this fire was lit with a match of inadequacy. This match was struck against a matchbox of fear. Fear is what lit the match, while the match is what started the fire. Which is simple, really. This is what my mind is. A chaotic forest fire. Sure, it can be controlled and maintained. But a forest fire nonetheless. The fire itself is intense and bright. So white-hot that it is painful. Painful to live with and keep inside. But if I let it outside of it’s borders, it can burn the things it shouldn’t. The ones I love.

Each dancing flame that licks a new limb, setting it ablaze, is a new variation of a detrimental thought pattern. Am I a good wife? The fire roars louder. My sympathy is of no comfort; my labors of keeping the house clean and organized go unnoticed; my bold shows of fake confidence don’t live up to expectation. There goes another majestic evergreen, lost to its charred remains.

Small droplets of water that fall from the sky try to help. “I love you”, they say. But what will a few of natures most precious phenomena do for such a disaster? All that is left is to wait for a torrential downpour to save the day; or for there to be nothing left to destroy anymore.