I had a vision when I was sitting in church. I looked around the room at all the people around me and I was noticing their lit flames shining in their chests, right next to their hearts. Some were large and some were bright. But then I noticed mine. It was barely alive. Just a small flicker, like a campfire dying on black coals after a long night of roasting marshmellows.
Last week someone told me that I was mysterious. At first I was so happy, because I've always wanted to be that girl. The one you look at and can never figure out, because of all the layers upon layers of life she has built up in her thick skin. But I don't want to be that girl. I want to be the girl that you look at and can see her flame big and bright, and you don't have to squint your eyes to try to see the glowing coals.
I've never been able to start a fire with just two sticks; to be someone who is so "boy-scout savy" that they can pitch a tent in one minute and have the fire going without having to resort to newspaper and a lighter. But I've always wanted to be that girl.
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