Some things burn,
and somehow
we don’t mind at all.

In the heat, form dissolves
and becomes something else—
shadow turning into ember,
color into smoke,
memory into shape.

What looks like destruction
is often just a different kind of becoming—
a slow, molten shift
from what we were
into what survives the flame.

The fire doesn’t ask permission.
It transforms whatever it touches.
And sometimes,
we welcome that.

Not ruin.
Not salvation.
Just the truth of burning
into another form