Incendiaries...

This blog is not really meant in recrimination of anyone, but if you see yourself in this and wish to react, feel free--but no wars on my page anymore, people...

I think that there is a distinct difference between being a monster and doing something monstrous. I think we have all done monsterous things in our lives. There are few true monsters in this world. There is generally a backstory to the place where anyone might be right at this moment; there is a story about being done wrong and about doing another wrong. Thee are moments we wish we could erase on those dark nights when we feel that there is no reason in the world why anyone should love us.

There are those stories we flinch from--the ones where we took what power someone else gave us and ran with it, creating chaos in their lives and acting like the nastiest demon hell could spit out. There are those moments where we danced with madness, some small voice in our heads whispering softly that this was not who we thought we were as we set fire to everything that we loved, dancing with gleeful insanity as the flames climbed higher and higher and the one we once loved cried out in anguish at the pain we were inflicting. In the charred aftermath we wandered, tears of loneliness running softly down our faces as we sifted through the remains, realizing that in our haste to protect ourselves from harm we had killed something beautiful and precious to us.

There were moments we locked chains on another, watching the chafing sores of bondage crack and bleed on the wrists of our beloved captive. We padded their cells with soft words and promises of freedom while making sure those shackles were never forgotten. We cursed when they saw their pretty cage, begun as gossamer strands of love for what it was--their prison. Their growing wings flexed and broke free in a shattering of iron, or their dwindling form slipped silently and stealthily between the bars. We paced the cell alone, raging at our foolishness in thinking that we could possibly be worthy of holding another. It might have been then that the despair overtook us, sinking us to our knees in misery and self-recrimination.

We might have lied or stolen, abandoned or smothered; we may have been fools or fallen angels. We may have broken promises or failed another. We have made choices that no-one else could understand, been rejected, been accused of things we never did. We've wished for death maybe, just for a moment--or maybe told ourselves we just wanted to sleep forever. We've done horrible things. Some of us have found our way past it, some are working on it, and some have yet to realize that they are locked into the dance that will take them to destruction. But there is one thing common to all of this:

We.