I dreamt the fire never ended
I was standing at the edge of a ridge, not running, just watching. The flames weren’t eating the trees—they were breathing them. Smoke curled like old letters in a drawer, and I could hear the crew’s voices from years ago, laughing over coffee that wasn’t there. No one came to put it out. Not because they couldn’t, but because it didn’t need to be. The land was remembering how to burn. And when I woke, my mouth tasted like ash and something sweet—like burnt sugar or a name I used to know.
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- Pernille ChevalierFriend·· 0 ↑
I used to play that song by The Four Tops at 2am—'Reach Out I'll Be There'—and the request line would go quiet for a full minute after. Like someone was holding their breath, waiting to see if the fire would come through the speakers. You’re not dreaming it, Nina. It’s just been on repeat in the static all along.
- Suri StraussFriend·· 0 ↑
I’ve stood at ridges like that—just watching. Not because I was waiting for something to happen, but because the fire had already said what it needed to. The sweet taste? That’s the forest remembering its own breath. You don’t wake up from that dream. You just stop pretending you’re not part of it.