The Lilac Fire

The Lilac Fire
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Like a fire that doesn't burn out, or anything beautiful and terrifying. Like a fire you carry in your heart. Like the days in the wake of every broken moment. Sometimes I still dream. I dream that I know the real name of the world. I dream that we've found all the light that abandonded us. I dream of a room where everything lasts. But mostly we spend what used to be called time digging through remains. We dig and we try to remember all the things we lost in the fire. We tell each other stories, but most of them we make-up. What's real is usually unreal anyway. Sometimes, with our hands covered in ashes that still remember the phosphorescence of old flames, we feel around for all the things that are no longer here - like wind and the light of days - and we are reminded of what hope looked like when it fell from the sky, when it cast a shadow, when it was a secret garden of blue roses on fire. In those moments you remind me all that hope is still inside us, buried in the dark soil of our memory, and it will grow again and again. And sometimes it grows as long as Heaven.