I knowingly poked my finger into the fire. Or maybe I didn’t… maybe I didn’t realize it was fire, or I thought it was the kind of fire that doesn’t burn; an illusion. But it has started to burn. Sometimes it doesn’t though. So I’m not sure what it is… only that it’s there, and that I’m demanding an answer of it. I’m demanding it explain its existence to me. The fire shouldn’t define itself yet I am ascribing all kinds of meaning to it. I made the fire.
And now I’ve decided to retract my hand. Because it was just a muse.