I’m sorry I was raised to be fire. But the thing about a fire is you cannot put it out unless you kill it. You can knock the breath out of me, but I will be burning until my very. last. one. This is me. I will always be illuminating. And i shall fall in love with all of the rubble I have destroyed and all the forests that have ignited my being. But at night, I dream of fireproof vests and midnight picnics and what we did not become.