Part 2 of 3
After tinder, ash. Roots calcined to wire; soil turned to glass. Each scorched acre signs our names, a map of the harm we traded. Then the world remembers its oldest law. Somewhere a wall forgets to hold. Water hears the vacancy and turns towards it. It arrives like verdict, not comfort... a surge shouldering through the scars until breath and footing falter. We go under together, sorrow heavy as stone in our hearts. Under the weight, old surfaces erode. Wounds open wider for a deeper rinse. Prying open what festers stings. Only then can healing begin. To make room for what is new, what was must end. A necessary death.