When fire turns ashy red in your ribcage.

I held my little baby’s hand and listened to the crowds scream Bernie’s name. And we were all hope and aglow with that golden fire. That fire that does not destroy but ignites. That love that stretches boundaries and burns us all the same. Life is love and the world keeps changing. Keeps foraging through that elliptical spin we’ve got stretched out before us. Progressing, progressing. Always working towards progressing. All our voices were a fiery prayer for something worth progressing towards.

Folding, packing, emboldening, spacing out, giving away. Filing. Fumbling. The things I’m doing and the actions that make up my days. That crease me and release me through all those tiny moments of progressing that I am. Progressing towards the me that I always am.

And springtime buds, who ever did a thing to deserve such a world?

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