It is fall, and I’ve been sitting in my window eating a breakfast of left over pot roast and reading.

A truck passed by and the smell of spent fuel took me to Paris, to the place that will always feel like home.

This year has extracted so much fire from me. I needed that fire to survive, to get out of bed and get answers. That fire got me through so many situations that would have undone me otherwise.

But I didn’t survive just so I could be angry all the time. Or negative. I might need it again at some point. But for now it’s time to retire it and return to a softer place.

Cooler temperatures mean that I throw dinners again. And plan outfits without worry that I’ll be drenched with sweat. And start discovering my next iteration. I just need to shake the fear out and let my lungs expand with grace so that the words I say may be of use.