I set fire to my own story and watched as the pages burned into a pile of dust. I release the words of pain and agony, resentment and regret, worry and disempowerment into the blackened smoke. Inhaling, exhaling, choking on the remnants of a silenced voice. I blew out the last of the flame to ensure that I had gotten what was left in my lungs. I am ripping out the pages of myself that I do not recognize any longer and stitching in a new parable. I am the fire and the ash. They will document how I came alive in my own destruction. And they too will remember how to ignite the flames of their own transformation.