How the bonfire was invented

It started with a woman’s body burning at the shore, everything on fire by the sunset behind her. The land knew no language other than rebirth. We saw it; we were mesmerized at how we didn’t need tissues because the smoke sucked our tears dry, each flame waving in the air beckoning for more grief. It was overwhelming, as fire usually tends to be—uncontrollably life-giving. We decided to stay: how often we use death to mark a new beginning—how often the woman signifies salvation, burning beautifully. It was night then, each crackle faithful to the rhythm of the sea. I said, we should dance around the fire, but it was burning out soon. See. Even light has an end, even cremation can find closure. I wanted to tell you this: I’m a liar. I didn’t stay at the fire because it mesmerized me. I was waiting to dance with you, to give ourselves an end after our own fire. To free ourselves from our bodies to the sky, to find the destination we could never reach ourselves.