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A Note About FireFly:
I sat alone in the green, plastic chair by the fire pit in our backyard on a warm, sunny afternoon. Memories were flooding my head, all of which were bruises on my spirit that I insisted on wearing like a badge against my chest. It had been a long year of searching and deceitfulness and an even longer relationship of heartache.
I looked at the box of gathered keepsakes that I was trying to forget. Each one was an addition to my list of hurt that was growing longer by the minute, all bricks in the wall I had built high around me. Once I had compiled every piece of ugly history I deemed worthy to remember I placed it in the pit, ready to set it ablaze.
I lit my cigarette and stared, fearfully, at my past before me. Was I really ready to let it go? It had served to protect my heart for many years, or so I wanted to believe. After a few calming drags off my smoke I set my list on fire and watched its ashes get carried away on the wind. I dropped the burning paper into the pit and breathed a cleansing sigh of relief as the remainder of my baggage rode the breeze over our fence, out of our backyard, and out of my spirit forever.
As I watched, I jotted down these few words that continue to serve as my reminder to always let go:
LIGHT EACH WOUND ON FIRE
THESE BURNS NO LONGER REACH YOU
GIVE IT TO THE WIND