Do you remember that day beneath our tree?
Was it just me, or did things go quiet?
Everything kept moving, in a way.
All we could hear was the music of the world.
The wind in the trees and grasses.
Was it just me, or were our hearts playing the loudest?
Sometimes people look at themselves with such hatred that they burst into flame. When they've burned to ashes their spirit breathes life into the embers from which they arise as a new creation, free of the chains that they'd bound themselves by, free of the lies they'd wrapped their aching hearts in. When nothing's obscuring them they shine a light so others can look at themselves & the masquerade they call life. And if they have any vision left, they burn. I burned.
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