The words I write are few but the emotions behind them are so deep; some still too raw. It takes a long time to purge my heart.
Each slip of paper contains a negative that I have harbored too long. Some I inflicted upon myself, some others gave to me. And instead of letting them go, I carried them with me far too long.
I light a single candle and place it above the torn paper.
One-by-one I pick up each piece of paper and read it out loud. Almost each time after I have verbally spoken the words, I find myself closing my eyes and breathing deep.
I hold the piece of paper in the flame and watch the words burn to ashes. Physically trying to release each one as the flames consume the paper and smoke fills the air. I repeat this process until a pile of ashes sit where the torn pieces of paper once were.
Smoke dances off the pile of ashes in a whimsical way reminding me that through the dark, dirty, broken, pieces of life, joy can come back.
I have not started a new book in my journey. I have only closed a chapter that makes me part of who I am, but no longer holds me back to what I once was.
Each day I am gifted the opportunity to write another page in the now chapter. I choose to be the greatest character in my own tale. Not a cookie cutter of what others want, or a victim, or a damsel in distress, or a forgiveless vengeful person.
Long after the ashes have been discarded the smell of smoke still lingers on my hands. I wash it away, dry them off and begin a new now.