M-C-C

fire ... burns hot and fast, as a passionate love does turns to smoke and ash ... the remnants of what once was as the embers quell, and there’s nothing left to say even the smoke dissipates and the ashes blow away

As I tilt my head back in the desert,  and stare listlessly at the clear skies,  the blinding glare of the sun burns my face.  After wiping sweat with the back of my hand to keep it  from dripping into my eyes,  I bring my attention back down to the child standing in the shadow of a solitary cactus … the child's almost wisping away. A mirage in the heat? “Take my hand, and walk barefoot with me through this place.” “No,” the child says, “the sand will burn my feet, I think.” “Are you afraid?” “I am not,” the child lies.