Every now and then I’d get these little sparks that ignite furious wildfires in my mind reminding me of my initial passions of my current life choices.
All I got is smoke. I got a feeling that what I strive for is behind the smoke. I’m trying to get to it before it turns to ash or rendered invaluable by unrelenting sut.
There’s no water in sight. No dust to calm the inferno just an inability to control it. So, I let it burn. I could see it better if it weren’t for the smoke. It has no where to go. A dome contains it choking the air it needs to breathe.
It wants to be free, and I want to release it. Its exposed in increments like a chef teasing his culinary potential. Its witnesses only see smoke.
Despite it’s stagnant life, I feel pressure building against the will of the dome. The walls are solid, sustainable yet unwanted. It seeks to reshape the flame and control how it burns.
The pressure builds. I’m waiting on the chance to fuel its ambition and when it does, I’ll be there to watch its light spread.