When I was young, I loved to watch my father work. I used to think sparks were dangerous, so I would sit far enough away that the fire could not reach me. But I could still feel the heat, watching sparks rise high into the smoky air.
I was terrified of darkness. I would sleep with a candle burning to protect me, but shadows invaded my dreams. I pretended I was a dragon, filled with flames. Fearless.
No one believes in dragons anymore. No one believes in fire, either. I've grown up into the age of electricity, where fire is too hot and too wild to touch. Why risk burning yourself when light and heat are ready at the flip of a switch? It's much safer to shiver in the glow of civilization than to risk getting burnt.
The lights of cities surround me, outshining the stars. The mess of humanity clusters around the light like moths. They're all just afraid of the dark. I think back to the years I spent pretending to be brave.
When I was young, I loved to watch my mother light a fire. I'll never forget the sight of headlines of newspapers turning into flames.
Maybe that was what first set my heart on fire. I don't know, but I've been burning ever since.
I feel restless. Dissatisfied. Angry with my generation and the ones that came before it. But with that discontent comes determination, and the vision to make my dreams for the future a reality. I no longer think sparks are dangerous. They are beautiful. They are the opportunity to become so much more. I still love the idea of setting the headlines on fire. Maybe something beautiful will rise out of the ashes.
They tell me to choose my battles.
But I'm not willing to compromise. I'll fight every one.
For I am young. I am angry. I am alive.
With my spark I will burn bridges, turn my back on my regrets, set my past ablaze.
I will ignite the world.