still inspired by nothing i found my way to the fireplace and stared into it. the flames fought for attention like my thoughts. one jumping in front of the other in an attempt to establish power. worried about everything, I wished the fire could burn the memories from my brain. too many things happened. Too many things gone wrong in the past. i hung my head and felt the heat of the flames on my scalp. maybe it could work. maybe i would singe all the negative hopeless pieces into ashes. Then i could brush them away. dusting my hands in a dismissive good riddance rhyme. the sounds of my hands moving against each other meant it was over. and i could start over. except for the dismaying fact that I, indeed, had to let go. pulling my hands apart seemed impossible. not looking away from them, tightly clasped, concluded the obvious. that i rather enjoy the misery of endless consideration for what should be left in the dust.