Ripple Effect

Along the stream it flows. Just like the entire stream. Just as powerful. Just as subtle. Requiring no recognition or acknowledgement. It just flows. Because it can’t not. It has already been set into motion. 

Willingly? Maybe. 

Haphazardly? Possible. 

Doesn’t matter what set it off. 

What matters is that it won’t stop, just because you want it to. 

You can’t overtake the flow of the stream. You just go with it. 

You can’t halt the ripple effect, except with another one. 

Either way. It wins. 

Rekindled Ashes

All it took was a scorching gaze. A light touch to bare skin. A challenging knead to a tired soul. A fascinating rebuttal to a mundane state. 

She emerged. Like a lioness trapped in the skin of sheep; like a fierce ray of insurmountable energy; like a breathless temptress overcome with lust; she emerged. 

She should’ve never been buried. The hole she had dug as deep as her scars had even fooled her into a lifeless life. A motionless monotony. A chosen captivity. 

The match struck once. 

And she was lit. 

The ashes swirling, engulfing her, coursing through her veins, daring her to disbelieve, mocking her with every thought that’s been prepared to put out the fire in her soul. 

The thoughts faltered and withered with every breath of freedom; with every prick of passion, long denied. 

She smelled it. 

The smoke of rekindled ashes. 

The scent of truth. 

And she breathed again. 

She breathed again.