WHAT REMAINS: REMAINS

Every line came from somewhere. Something I couldn’t say. Something I kept carrying.

I put it on paper. Gave it faces. Let it look back at me.

Then I gave it to the fire.

The paper curled. The faces broke apart. Lines I’d spent time making disappeared in seconds.

I could burn what I’d made. What made me draw it was harder to reach.

Now, somewhere between the ash and this recording, there’s a trace of something I once needed to get out.

I call it REMAINS.