Anger’s Fire
Anger is a fire. It starts as a spark—a careless comment, a broken promise—and spreads quickly, consuming reason. I pace, fists clenched, replaying the hurt in my head. But fire burns out. When the smoke clears, I’m left with weariness, and a quiet realization: holding onto it only burns me. Sometimes, the bravest thing is to let it die, to sift through the ashes and find what’s worth saving.