Fire.
Fire scalds. Fire burns; it destroys everything in its path. Of course it does. That's the very nature of fire. And it doesn't stop, not until it's turned everything it touches to ashes.
Therefore, fire is bad. Right?
I'm not so sure.
Because the thing is, everybody always forgets what the ashes are capable of.
Fire takes things that men have made, and fire burns those things to ash. Then the ashes return to the ground… and makes the ground more fertile.
And from fertile ground… things grow. Trees, fruits, vegetables. Flowers. Weeds. They thrive.
It's the in between times that are messy. Once the fire has burnt out, before the ashes have settled – in those moments when the smoke hangs in the air so thick you can't see, and the ashes float around, singeing your skin, getting caught in your hair, and irritating your eyes more than the smoke ever could… what do you do in those moments?
Do you sit down and wait for the smoke to clear and the ashes to settle, hoping that whatever has happened around you in the meantime is for the better? Or do you get up, wade through the smoke and ash, and keep going.
One of those options is certainly harder, and it definitely hurts more – but at the end of the day, when the sky is clear and the ashes have led to flowers, only that same option fills you with a sense of satisfaction, of pride in what you may've helped to bring about. And that is definitely worth it.
So… fire. Bad… or good?
I guess that depends on who you ask. I would know.
I'm the girl on fire.