I.) I slowly allowed my body to lean up against the wall. I tried to be careful of the heater. But I was not careful enough. The front of my shins touched the hot metal. They sat there for a second, contemplating the heat. I have noticed that my reactions are slower these days. The front of my legs jumped back, but the rest of my body stayed up against the warm wall. I tried moving my legs again.
II.) As I stood there, with all my personal thoughts on the page, I felt more vulnerable than ever. Although most of words were not legible, I felt the most personal words were out there, in the open. I stood there, feeling exposed, even though others might say that I was hardly exposing myself at all. I cut my arm and opened it up, revealing muscle, veins, and bone down to the marrow. But still I am masked. Even if I had stood there in the nude, I wouldn’t feel as vulnerable as my words made me feel.
III.) The other night, I set my kitchen on fire. At first, it was an innocent action. I was making popcorn. I poured oil into the pot, and then placed the pot onto the stove. I checked the pot, and the flame jumped out. Bright orange danced in the air. It taunted me. The fire called to me by name, it invited me to dance with it. And so I danced. I danced until the entire kitchen was engulfed in orange, which was not for very long, because it was a small kitchen.
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