“But they’re just words.”

Just words. Just raging words that turn into fire. I become engulfed in these roaring flames and I am alone. It’s too hot and suffocating to cry at the moment. It’s embarrassing.

I should be tougher. I should be stronger. I should be water, extinguishing the flames. But I am burned all over.

I am scared. I am weak. I am on my knees. I try to stand up but you’re not done.

Each roar, each pang of fury shakes the ground and I tremble, falling further down. I bite my lip. I clench my hands. I try to close my eyes.

I am not burned on the skin but the words of fury iron my soul. Seething hot and scarred, it becomes afraid. It whimpers. It tries to hide in the cracks. But arrogant, scorching hands grab it by its throat and perfectly flattens my soul.

Geysers of anxiety erupt amid fireworks. Heartbeats drum in the background. Fitting for a brutal murder as the silhouette of my self-esteem fell to the ground. Blood stained the fiery floor.

Finally, silence stops holding its breath. You leave. And I can cry. Tears are water and water extinguishes flames. They pour down until the flames are all gone.

They are gone for now but memories are like ghosts. They have passed away but they still haunt.

Dormant geysers still erupt from time to time.