Burns

The bag lies packed in a corner of the room, filled to the brim and bulging at the seams. My agitated shrugs and short temper whisper of approaching departure, of reluctant motion. I stare into the sun, map my errands to fit the light. My sunburn smarts at every turn, but I cannot disapprove of my body's ridiculous appearance; it reminds me there is a summer coming.

I return to burning pyres of the messes I've made. The change of scenery offered a welcome relief, but the ashes smolder indefinitely, patiently waiting to be sorted out. The Road lies tantalizing, serene, westward bound and whispering of Mad Adventures, yet I print my boarding pass and return to the cold, confusing lands where my eyes do not shine as bright. This air in my lungs will only last me so long.

Watch me blow that fire out.