Ire

I made it to the rage phase.

I am, for the first time in the very long time, in anger. I am not angry, I am not screaming, I am not consumed by it in the way that I am used to. I dragged myself out of the ocean of misery and sadness that I was wading in directionless yesterday and found myself upon a field of flames. I let it singe my fingers but it does not take me. And yes, I feel alive.

How dare he. It’s not question that used to be able to be asked. How could I used to be the anthem of the day. After all, how can I blame another when I am so busy blaming myself. How dare he. It’s the kind of question the heroine asks. The kind of question only a person who, deluded or not, knows their worth. I am worth taking care of. I tended to the kindling of the afternoon and treated myself to a proper flame today. I will not be seeing Greg anymore. He should know better. I deserve better. I have my spark again. I will not let it go out again.