* * *

anxiety didn't burn like i thought it would the flames didn't roll up from the page to meet my lighter, but were drawn deep into the rolled up sheets. they smoked and it took a while to realize i no longer needed to shield my words from the wind; a hidden burning had now taken life inside the text and only by holding it still and waiting could i see the jagged black line inch forward, dividing my anxiety into the yet undigested and the frayed gray that flayed off with the biting breeze. it no longer needed my efforts to stay lit. i leaned out of the hallway and kept maneuvering my anxiety so it didn't roll smoke into my face, and i could see how it breathed its death at both ends now, the thousand tiny grey corpses of my unrest flickering around me in the cold, and the vestiges of unease searing closer and closer to my gloved hand. i could feel nothing but ever present cold, so thought alone said now was the time to drop that hidden fire. "get help" was still legible, then just "help", as the therapist prescribed foothold of burnable journal entries ate its way closer to the end. i walked to the concrete backyard and set today's fragments on the ground. only then did the faint embers reveal themselves, as the wind kicked dismay into the air. the glimmer of flame hid itself and then was cast open one last time to the january morning. only when it was so small that not even a word could be read, did i turn away and let it burn itself out.