They say that phoenixes are born from the ashes of their own death. That they start anew from the remains of what once was, are made stronger by the leftovers of the past. I wonder how they know when the time is right. Is it when they become too beaten down by life, burdened by the enormous weight of their current existence? Or is it because they have found the perfect moment, when the world is silent yet pulsing with energy, and they realize that forgiveness and new life can begin at this exact breathtaking moment.
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If You Have to Ask You’ll Never Know
Published August 30, 2012 by Jourdan
Lost was something she felt all the time. How do you know what that one choice was that snowballed you into this inevitable reality? This fate where you’re sitting next to empty, greasy, Chinese take-out cartons and squishing ants under your fingers just to feel powerful for once. Stinky, nasty dirty floors. Moldy gray-green walls. Die, ants, die. She knew he was coming soon. She didn’t know what time it was, he had turned off her power, but the sun was finger painting the clouds.
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