Yesterday, I Set Fire To My Heart.
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Yesterday, I set fire to my heart.
You helped me.
Without the flintstone of your fingernails, I could not have begun; without the kindling of our recollections, there would have been nothing to catch the sparks.
But with your help, I ignited a blaze to burn everything down. In its light, our shadows were illuminated — our hearts unbound.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I will do it again, but for today, I am free of the ropes that bind.
In the flames of our passion, all that I was turned to ash. Powder-gray and pure.
In the heat of your arms, all I would become didn’t matter, yet.
Who I was and who I would become — tissue-thin specters burnt to nothing. The fibers of their weaving — so many molten threads to pour out the window of my mind. Empty now, but for a single moment in time.
The origami-paper edifices of our lives? More fuel for the fire.
Our garments, trailing smoke? Illusions to crumble.
Yesterday, I set fire to my heart, and I held your hand to watch.
How could I have known our hearts wouldn’t burn — only everything else would? How could I have known the blinding white-red flash of seared rope that releases only in the hottest flames? How could we have ever known that from the ashes of our past and future, our truth would rise?
When all that we were and all we might become melted into darkness and shattered into light, we didn’t think anything would emerge from the chaos — least of all truth. Least of all love.
But it did rise. Bald and smeared with soot. Naked and shivering in the sudden chill after the flames had died.
Free — with a freedom born of fire — our hearts rose.
Yesterday, I met you in the sky and I set fire to my heart.
I was stardust. You were fire.
You seared away all my conceits — left only bone-white truth.
I settled over you a shimmering veil, so I could look upon your face. But it, too, leapt into flames.
Our eyes met, and you whispered my name. Our bodies collided, and nothing remained — save stardust and fire, and hearts lit by the smoldering coals. Tomorrow, perhaps, we will begin it all again.
Today, though, what I was and what I would be are charcoal memories still. We can rest in the space between was and will be, and hone the flintstone of our fingernails by the lingering light.
As I gaze into the fire, I see the truth of your eyes upon my face.
Yesterday, you met me in the sky, and we set our life ablaze. But our hearts, my heart — our hearts — remained unscathed.
*****
Toby Israel is an incorrigible vagabond. She travels in search of dragons, mermaids, adventures and searches… and cross-cultural understanding. Avid dancer, yogi, cook and lover of words, she is inspired by movement and poetry, good food and new things. She studied Anthropology at Middlebury College and now seeks to squeeze by as a freelance writer. She writes a column for Elephant Journal, and a travel blog, Next Stop World. You can also follow her journey on Twitter and Facebook.
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