Smoke


I held the smoldering sage between my fingertips and watched.

Watched as the remnants of a desperate prayer became smoke.

Watched as that prayer shifted and curled upwards, rising effortlessly as it was born out of ashes to do.

I felt it then. An ache trapped and screaming beneath my skin. A desire surfacing like anger and hope.

I longed to be smoke.

The time had come to leave my ashes to their rest.

Chelsey Whitlow

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