His advice was to burn it all down
so I wouldn’t have anything to go back to.
I would have done as he said,
had I not been scared of fire as it is.
I was afraid the flames would catch up to me,
grab onto my foot and lick up my legs,
swallow me up along with everything else.
He doesn’t know what I did,
no idea about what I didn’t do.
He'd understand anyway,
he’s been gone for five years now.

Couldn’t I just bury everything under snow,
so I could dig it up when I’ve come back?
"The snow would melt and so would your resolve,
but fire will wake you up and strengthen you,
keep your feet alive and moving.”
Who wants stagnancy? Who wants this?
I certainly have grown tired of it
but I’m too afraid to trade it for the comfort that
familiar chilly winds, light drizzle,
warm sunsets, starry night skies,
the smell of books in my library,
could provide me with.
He has always been stronger than me.
I can’t imagine how he must be now.

I live alone in a house in the fields
that I want to leave so badly
but I couldn’t seem to go
because of the huge crater that could be found
some distance from my home.
I could feel his words haunting me,
each time I pass by the emptiness of his lot.
They were still calling us children
when we stood in front of his burning house,
so bright amongst the dark sky painted behind it.
I felt like we were foreground objects
in his masterpiece about ashes.
At fifteen years old, he had rid himself of a home.
He thought it to be a burden—that which others
have always considered a luxury and privilege.

I miss the way his eyes would tear up as he stared at me unblinking.

Five years ago, I asked for him to come by
but he never accepted my offer.
Five years ago, I didn’t ask for him to stay
because I knew he never could.
I knew from the way he held me
as he whispered his parting words:
"Say hi when you come across me on your journey."
But that was five long years ago.
I’ve painted my walls red and orange,
fierce but hopefully not too angry.
I’m not angry. I’m peaceful.

I lived alone in a house in the fields
that I wanted to leave so badly
and now I’m leaving it,
but I’m not burning it down.
I’m leaving craters on each road instead.