Ashes

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Burning Down the House.”

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Ashes.
Ashes are all that is left.
As I stand in the ruins of us,
I remember the flames,
slow and warm at times,
white hot and scorching at times.
Always all-consuming.
The ashes are cold and empty and numb.
So even after all the devastation,
I long for the sweet pain of the flames.

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