Something in my soul caught on fire. And it’s burning down all the dusty corners, destroying walls that were never supposed to collapse. 

Brick after brick, they are falling into the void of forgotten beliefs, hitting hard the floor of my most hidden parts. Every whoosh, every slam, every clank makes my heart beat differently. Not faster, not slower. Differently, yet it feels strangely familiar. Where do I know this beat from? The way these bricks break in half when they crumble to the depth of my soul is familiar yet all so new at the same time. How can something this new bring me memories I am not able to recall? 

Are they my future memories? Are they illusions dressed up in hope and faith? Or could they simply be the parts of me that wanted to feel liberated for so long?

My soul is on fire. But I’m not panicking. Rather, I feel amused. And a tiny bit annoyed. I was expecting my soul to be grieving for a little longer than this. How is it possible to have these vivid colours painting a new masterpiece inside my gallery of fine art already? I just put up the “under construction” sign and now I’m making space for a new exhibitor? The bricks are falling. The sound of crumbling is getting louder. 

Even though it’s terrifying, I’m not running to safety. I step right into the flame and look at this new-familiar thing in the eye. Show me what you’ve got! Show me what I’ve been running away from for so long. The bricks are falling. The sound of crumbling wants me to take cover in the safest corner of my soul. But everything’s on fire. I can’t hide. I can’t run. I can’t beat this with a logical plan. 

I get paralysed as I watch my old patterns burst into flames. I taste the saltiness of my tears as they roll down to my smiling lips. I let out the deepest exhale, which cracks something in my neck that sends a release into my shoulders. 

These bricks were too heavy. Too hard. Too useless.

My soul is on fire. And finally, I can breathe again.