Fire is missing

By Eneida Giboyeaux

Sun Child 

Once, you burned wildly, destruction and chaos embodied. So desperate to touch, to meet the world with intense, misguided hands, curious and ungentle. The world is begging you to stop. The world is turning into ash beneath you. 

Sun child, ever so close to light, caught between wavelengths and matter, immaterial and erratic, neither gas nor liquid, neither earth nor star, it is no wonder you search, scour, devour, to belong. 

Broken Flame 

Now, you got what you wanted. The heat that left scars on your bones, the fury that seared through your blood for so long, has been put out. You are empty now. Just as they want you, a vessel to use, a cold, hollow husk.

You thought to be happy you needed to be healed of your anger, but now a black hole festers beneath your heart, a lonely, broken shell has replaced the body made of fear. 

Healing 

Come to me, sun child. Let me show you what it means to be alive, how the flame becomes light.  How a glass body becomes a diamond temple. 

Salvation begins at this point, when you can say:

I have not outlived so much agony 

to not be enough. 

You have always been enough. Loneliness will not outlast self-love, will not outlast the light. 

Light 

Wrath was not your downfall. Nobody taught how you to purify fury, but that’s all that light is, Sun child. Light is vitality. Light is spirit. Walk into sunlight and you can start to grow again. 

Transform your fury into compassion, a bright, dazzling, immortal good, for your soul was not fit for holding still, but to glow warmly for your world, for you. This is how a child of light is born. 

Eneida Giboyeaux is a junior majoring in Creative Writing and Publishing & Editing with a minor in Spanish from Harrisburg, PA. She enjoys singing in Spanish much more than speaking it and loves drawing wobbly pictures of drag- ons in her spare time.