Grief is a form of Fire

It was a Friday, and as far as i can recall, it was almost always a friday, and almost always borderline saturday, almost always the same problem, almost the same hope, always the same result. the facts that happened that night wasnt any different, just wrapped differently. though i could have choosen to ask myself press 'repeat emotion sequence', but that night, I felt different. funny how everytime it happens, it further proves a point, and pushes me further away.... after every time I believed, it came to this point... for that night, I felt numb. Alcohol was doing a great job numbing it and diluting every bitter punch to wrap the bad taste it leaves... and the smell of the smog of the October air and fresh rain was letting me make it sink it all in without too much contemplation. It's letting me breathe it all in and face it like a man, and exhale any ill feelings. It was hard to do, but I knew I was doing it for me - I knew it was for the best. I waited and 

 waited, even though I know I was waiting for no one,

...until the clock stuck 3AM, there I was, standing at my dormitory window, and it seems like the whole world was silent waiting for the next time my phone sings.

i lied in bed with eyes wide open arms folded and had there not been any roof and pollution, i know i would've conversed with the stars and ask why the freaking universe is not letting us work this out. but of course, the universe will not answer that. instead, it will give you a deafening silence and let you figure it out yourself why. maybe it will give a little falling star here, or a twinkle, but that's about it, it will still leave you perplexed and hungry for explanation... maybe the answer will just hurt me, maybe i'm not ready for it yet, but most likely, i'm not gonna get the answers that i needed. maybe i just have to let it be. maybe, i really just have to let it go. 

grief has 5 stages. i've heard that for a few good people, they could sneak their way out ang go right away on the 5th stage, acceptance. for some, they dwell too much on the first. or second. or third. and repel too much on the fourth. 

but for me, Grief, is a form of Fire. You deny first that the fire is already harming you for you thought It was just getting you warm and getting you through the cold night. then you'll start to realize the fire is stealing the air you're about to breathe, it consumes what is supposed to be inside your lungs. And then the fire grows and it starts to 

 chase you, and the next thing you realize, you are standing in front of your dormitory window, at 3AM, thinking if you're willing to jump from the building, or be consumed by the fire - either way, you're dead. And as the fire wraps you, you find yourself conversing with the stars that cannot give you a concrete answe - that cannot give you an answer in 

 the first place. and as the fire burns every single, living hope in the ridiculous little fairy tale, you inhale pure fire just to get your life over with. no matter how painful it will be.

then again, Grief is a form of fire, but fire doesnt have to be a bad thing. it purifies and neutralizes all emotions and memories whether good or bad. it kills all probable pathogens, that even the most minute contaminant won't have a chance of cultivating back. fire could make you catalyze the cooking process and not just let the goddamn sun do all the work. Fire makes even the hardest of metals glow, and be forged into the most lethal of swords. Through fire, they bend, get molded, and they don't break. 

Sometimes, we don't understand why we should take all the heat and let us be engulfed in the fire, but I guess it will all be clear once we get out of it... as crystal clear as your reflection in the shiny sword that will be made out of it. 

so right now, i'm letting the fire burn in me until it kills all hope and toast all pathogens of regret. i'll let it get all the air it wants. I would let it wrap me and devour me, the Universe could even play a background music for all I care, until it will take me higher, and higher, and around and around, until, I, too, will be part of the smoke, and the smoke will thin out, until the air becomes breathable again, and then, It will all be clear. greif will then turn into gratitude, and bitter will be called a blessing. i just needed the fire to be a vehicle, as I ride along its wake.