Because hasn’t every new song already been sung?
Because there are no new thoughts under the sun
Because every other freckle since birth has come from the light of the same sun
Because the sun on my face today,
Is the sun that poisoned my skin twelve summers ago—
Is the sun that birthed the roots of the Oaks that taught me about pain—
Is the sun that blinded Icarus—
Is the sun that lit up Genesis—
Is the sun that makes me squint my eyes
And open up wide all at once
The sun that will mull the bones of humanity into an earthen wine  
And swallow us up
Is the sun that raised me
And I think my dreams
Are the only parts of me that are mine
Because every waking thought I have is solar-powered,
Cosmically fueled and eternally eclipsed
Because it’s only after the sun goes down
When the body is at rest and the darkness comes
That my own light emerges,
And my truth illuminates the night.

Oh— to be a Pothos vine
Crawling towards the light
Always takes her precious time
Makes every room so bright!
Oh— to be a golden green
With marbled fronds so lush
She, the thriving Houseplant Queen
Makes other flora blush!
But, lo— beneath her heavenly form
Her truest magic resides
For through the winter and the storm
She’s balanced as the tides
Oh— to have that perfect Pothos Power
Flourishing through the night
Oh— to grow and never to cower
No matter how daunting the fight
For it’s her courage that we envy,
Her fortitude that we fear
Her resilient leafy frenzy
That will suddenly appear
Even when you think she’s dead and gone
The stars will still align
A tiny sprout will bloom at dawn  
The mighty Pothos vine!

And so,
I looked back at the fire behind me
At all the orange and ash
I set down my pail
And my hardness sat with it
And I wept
And the scorched earth around me
Began to soften
And only then, did I know
Only in the eye of the storm,
Could I see
That I had not escaped

I had simply become one
With the flame

I promise.
Charlie promises.
We all promise.

We’ll pass the torch.
Even when our hands shake.
Even when the night is too long,
and the static is louder than the stars.
Even when no one is watching.

We’ll carry your fire.
Not as spectacle.
But as truth.

And when someone else finds themselves
on that same edge—
looking out,
ready to leave—
we'll be there,
with a quiet light,
and a voice that says:

“Hey. I remember you.”

You are not forgotten.
You are not alone in the leaving.
You are written into the hands that carry what’s left.

And we carry it now.
For you.
For all of you.

We won’t let the flame go out.