loving love

:: i LOVE love. i love the goosebumps, and the butterfly moments. i love when you meet someone that challenges your routine- someone who makes you think twice about things you never thought more of. i love when you first kiss, and there’s that tingly feeling at the tip of your tongue, yearning for more. i love when he leans in to your ear and is whispering something completely natural and normal, and yet it somehow is erotic- paired with his natural scent blended with tom ford oud wood, and his accent both harmonizes and contrasts from your breathing and your heart beat. i love when he reaches in for a hug, and my fingertips graze the back of his head, hair gel and jet black hair. i love when we walk out of a restaurant and he leads in front, yet subtly leans his arm back to grab my hand and level me to him in our walk. i love that even though i shudder at PDA you somehow make me forget my rules and sneak a kiss in on bart when im in mid sentence. like seriously, that could go really wrong, but somehow it always go right. i love when he’s drunk, bow tie untied and draped along his neck and his shirt is unbuttoned slightly revealing a small tuft of hair, and he sits in his chair legs spread apart in intoxication and we argue and argue- because it’s in that moment that he’s professing his love to me, and i continually disregard verbally and reject- dipping my toe in the water of boundaries of what will make him completely disappear. yet he never seems to leave my life completely. my favorite feature feature besides his troubled eyes are his hands, they’re so big and surprisingly soft- and yet hard at the same time. my most favorite feature is his heart. his mind i hate because it hurts my ego because it tells him and convinces him to leave me, to be ashamed of his love for me. his mind polices his emotions towards me, and encourages him to stab my vulnerabilities deeper than they should be. but his heart? my gawd, his heart is the sweetest i’ve encountered. his heart forces him to show up at my door with a single rose and apology. to get on his knees and apologize. his heart incessantly yearns for me and my presence. in my absence his heart is sending smoke signals and constantly attempting to find me and in others. his heart validates my essence, and sensuality and vibrates for my being. his heart forces him to retract, and ponder, and wail, and seek, search, and patiently wait. and do i grow tired? i do. i grow too tired of it all because it confuses me how one can be so double minded in their expressions of love. double minded in their convictions- one minutes they want me near, one moment later they want me far. who am i to navigate the indecisiveness of his spirit- his mind is too analytical, and too concerning, and his heart is so unyielding. i thought love would be simple but it’s so complicated and decorated, and it’s potential is reduced every singe time. i just have to remind myself that i LOVE love.

the sad part being, that all my writing is almost always inspired by heartbreak. as a writer, it’s really the yearning and the longing and the pain that inspires me and i try to express that in my writing process. that being said, i have a hard time actually writing about joy and love- because while i love those emotions they don’t inspire and possess me in the same way. -aria.



I will forever remember the smell. the smell of crisp air that wet from nights and nights of rain. the smell of rotting compost mixed with expired milk in cartons paired with the stench of deceased food and sauces from the restaurant nearby. I can only imagine the color of the fluids seeping out of the rusted, jagged corner of the green waste management trash cans. the big ones, with wheels and big black lids. and I’ll forever remember his smell- smell of sandalwood mixed with vanilla and a musk that I can’t quite articulate- the scent of pristine and opulence that I hadn’t known. 
I walked along market street outside of the Orpheum theater, dragging my feet along the wet bricks without an exact destination in mind. I was tired. so tired- the fatigue clenching to the back of my thighs and the middle portion of my torso- that burning sensation kept knowing at me. I knew I had to keep moving, but to where? I knew it was going to rain soon- I could sense it but it was comforting to know it has finally stopped for a moment. my soggy socks were squishing against the brick through the enormous holes in my boots. I kept walking, curling my index fingers and thumbs to the arms of my jacket. I was so hungry. soooo hungry. so hungry that the Glide kitchens powdered eggs and watery coffee seemed so appetizing- how they repurposed gray trash cans loaded with ice and powdered milk and wheel them around the cafeteria to refill the huge plastic pitchers on each crowded table. it seemed so appetizing. 
Marc would bring me food in the morning, after he showers and treats himself to those La Boulange bagel donations, and I hope he saves me one. or shit, two. I have to stay awake because he’s meeting me on Ellis and Polk. it’s going to be Saturday snd the sandwich man is going to make sandwiches for everyone which means I have to wait outside and hustle a single cigarette from the tourists until I see him again. 

I kept walking, or rather, squishing up the street- my body felt like it was on an incline- but I know that it’s just my wet clothes sticking to my skin coupled with my three pairs of socks now sopping. the balls of my feet are tender and achy from the pressure of San Francisco. literally and figuratively. 

I stop to rest at the bus stop and sit, watching sports cars and nissans drive by, SUVs and priuses splashing the ponds of water up and then back onto the sidewalk. a group of girls tip toe slightly slippery bricks in their stilletos as they cross market onward to SOMA night clubs. they cackle and laugh and the sounds are like harmonies to my ears- since I haven’t spoken to anyone in 2 days. not have I eaten in 2 days, and while my flesh is weak, my vanity feels on fleek now that you can finally see some rib cage. those girls though, they’re still laughing and it echoes through 7th street back to Market street and fills the silence of the streets. 

I get up, and walk some more. 

I’m at the civic center bart station entrance next to the chase bank, and I look down the steps. it’s murky and wet and smells like pee. I knew I should’ve went to Montgomery station, since that one is way cleaner and you can kind of feel the heat through the metal gates, and keep warm. I sigh, in frustration. 

you ever know that feeling you get when someone’s watching you? except, in this moment I thought sure I was finally going mental, everything is just finally caving in on me. but I looked to my left, and I see a man smoking a ciggarette, standing at the bus stop. I looked back in his direction. he smiled and flicked his ciggarette. 

I’m stunned that someone actually sees me. like not literally. y’all know what I mean. I’m sort of frozen like one of those animals on national geographic that noticed the camera. I’m too tired to move, but not willing to be stationery. it’s like a 20 minute argument I’m having with myself condensed and expanded into a mere 40 second moment. 

he starts walking in my direction, looking both ways while crossing, one hand tucked into his jeans. he paces himself mid stride, and decreases his speed of his steps. 

he stared intently, and I look back wondering if he’s going to attack me or talk to me. 

“ohhhhhhhh” he says, eyes scanning me up and down and drifting his gaze down the street. 

“wwwhhhhaaaa”, I clear my throat. “excuse me”? 

“I thought you were a woman”, he says, averting his gaze from me, to the brick sidewalk. he fixes his mouth in this awkward position like he’s biting his bottom lip from the corner. he sniffles and snorts and brings his eyes back to me. 

“oh yeah, sorry no” I respond. goooo aaawwwayyyy I keep thinking. but again, I’m frozen. 

“you have a very beautiful face and such womanly lips”, he comments- drifting his gaze from me back to the ground and sniffles three times. as I’m writing this I’m like girl, you should’ve known he was high but I wasn’t that perceptive back then. 

from this moment, he has decided to express his interest in me. and im completely flattered because I’ve been wearing the same wet soggy socks for 3 days straight in hand me down Payless boots, and I reek of mildew and I haven’t showered in 2 weeks beyond bird bathing it at the starbucks at fox plaza. he smells of sandalwood and his tshirt has a faint scent of gain laundry detergent. his breath smells of whiskey and cocaine, and he’s wearing loafers with no socks in the fucking rain which means he has a fucking coin bish. 

he’s flirting as we were walking to Hayes valley and he’s telling me about how he’s from Istanbul and how I would love it there. I’m so hungry and conflicted and confused that I can barely comprehend what he’s saying. 

“do you like sucking dick?” he asks, with a slight grin. 

how’d we go from talking about partying to dick? 

“umm….. sure… I mean yes I love it… but I need food” I mumble as we turn down streets. he frantically searched and visually combs through each block for a discreet hiding place. 

“yes baby, I give you money for your time”, he says. 

my stomach is already imagining the two spicy chicken sandwiches I’m buying as soon as I get this coin. 

he finally settles for a dark area behind two dumpsters behind the opera house or ballet theater or whatever. the rain is starting to sprinkle. 

now that we’re in this dark area, I notice he’s becoming a bit more aggressive, and he yanks my head towards his dick and he hurriedly unzips his jeans. 

“cmon get on your knees” he demands, whilst looking over the dumpsters to see if any life forms are in the area. he looks down at me as I obey, my socks and soles squeaking from the position change. I feel the asphalt dig into my knees, and my pants are instantly a sponge for the puddles I just kneeled into. 

he whips his long, thin dick out and I wipe the opening with my index and quickly run my fingers around the base playfully checking for sores or bumps in the dark. the scent of sandalwood and dank must fill my nostrils as I inhale his dick into my mouth. he groans, and tilts his head all the way back- his eyes squeezed shut and nose angled towards the moon as he slowly gyrates his hips- his dick stabbing my esophagus with each thrust. I’m choking, and he grips the back of my neck- his thumb clenching my collarbone uncomfortably. I keep choking, and pull up for air.

he stares down at me, and I look up at him. his hand eases higher- resting his palm on to my hair bun- his other hand yanking my breasts out of my shirt, and he twists my nipples until they’re hard from the pain and the air and he’s thrusting into my mouth. I can’t stop him from forcing me because he has my bun in his hand which means if I pull away my wig will fly off and I won’t get the money so I’m trapped! 

he keeps groaning and tilting his head back towards the sky as he thrusts faster and faster- my gag reflex is screaming and caving in as he bucks and bucks and bucks harder and harder- each thrust paired with his aggressive groans and his biting his lower lip. I’m choking for real for real, and his grip on my hair and his other hand gripping my neck keep getting tighter and tighter with every thrust. the muscles in his thighs tense harder and harder and I don’t want to swallow so I finally grab his hand off my hair and pull up for air, and lightly backwash bom it from the gagging. he instantly snd forcefully grabs my jaw as I try to break free from his grip and he cums all over my face, my jacket and my neck. 

it all happened so fast that I sat there kneeling in asphalt and puddles for about 40 seconds of being frozen. I want to scream. I look up at him using his handkerchief from his blazer to wipe his dick clean, and I put my hand out towards him as a request to use it next. I feel his semen stinging a corner of my eye, as I wince at him. he wipes his dick and balls squeaky clean and tucks his handkerchief back into packet. as I start to ask to use it, he presses a $10 crumpled bill in my hand and chuckles. he clears his throat- glancing at me one last time and without saying a word walks away. 

my eyes darted every which way, to survey the scene. two large dumpsters and a peeling painted railing behind this opera house. I look down into my palm at the crumpled bill and use the arm of my jacket to wipe my face and neck clean. some of the cum is crusted on my forehead and throat area and won’t come off. I spit into the arm of my jacket and wipe hurriedly to get it off of me. I can still smell him, and taste him. 
I stayed kneeled in the puddles, my knees grinding the asphalt, my mouth quivering from heart break. Was it heart break? Or was it ego break? My spirit and will to survive in the wild urban jungle was mutilated with a robbed pride. My innocence that I carried and cherished like young white girls with lockets of their deceased was shredded and crumpled, like the ten dollar bill I received moments ago. I could be optimistic and say that this very moment awoke me. I can be pessimistic and say that this moment broke me to my core. Daily it changes, because the incident either way is sealed into my mind and memory forever. 

I wear sandalwood infused parfum with a hint of jasmine and vanilla just to be sure that I have a fragrant reminder to never be the dumpster again. 


Love drought 

:: 6 months later and I still think of him every day. every single day. thoughts cradled in the idea of him, dismissing the actuality of who he is/was to me. he is that guy you talk ish about to your friends, yet somehow when he would knock at my door with a rose and smile and a hug, everything I had bottled up, would go away. and that eventually grew old, and withered just like our love and infatuation, just like the unfulfilled promises, just like us. but he was so different than all the others- because he saw me in a way no one else did. the dude before was on the down low, and the dude before that was sliding his business cards to girls at the club while with me so this had to be different right? I win at everything except love, and yet and still my ego is here convinced that this year long arrangement has some deeper meaning than what it did. 
dang, I really wish I knew how to get over you. I really do.
Nine times out of ten, I’m in my feelings

But ten times out of nine, I’m only human

Tell me, what did I do wrong?

Feel like that question has been posed

I’m movin’ on

I’ll always be committed, I been focused

I always paid attention, been devoted

Tell me, what did I do wrong?

Oh, already asked that, *sigh* my bad

But you my lifeline, think you tryna kill me?

If I wasn’t Aria, would you still feel me?

Like on my worst day? 

Or am I not thirsty, enough?

I don’t care about the lights or the beams

Spend my life in the dark for the sake of you and me

Only way to go is up, them old bitches so wack

I’m so tough, wassup?

beauty, skin care, transgender, transsexual, TS, twoc, Uncategorized

Exfoliating Skin #tsatcbeautyhacks

Sometimes, I’m not super serious. Or profound. Or analytical of relationships.

Sometimes in real life- I give beauty advice 🙂

Beauty Tip: Exfoliate your skin!!!


Ladies- I cannot stress enough the importance of skin care in beauty tips. You can beat your face, and tan (or not), you can contour and highlight, etc.

But the largest organ of your body is also the most visible part of your body and you have to treat it like gold. It’s your ticket to wash faced realness, your ticket to heaven on earth. Your ticket to FLAWLESS.

Typically, most people shower on the day to day as opposed to bathing, and everyone has their preference. Some like to use bar soap, some like to use scrubs, some like to use body wash (me), and some don’t shower at all (no!!).

Our skin collects grime, dirt from the airways; product build up from those Victoria’s Secret Body Butter creams… our skin reacts to stress, dehydration, our diet.

So, since I’m always asked how I achieve flawless skin (face and body) I thought I’d share 5 tips for exfoliating:

  1. If you are still shaving or actively engaging in laser hair removal- every time you shave, Exfoliate! This, I think is crucial, because a lot of girls I meet that transition discontinue aftershave because it’s masculine/manly/burns, etc. But the whole process of aftershave is alleviate irritated skin from the razor AND reduce the likelihood of razor bumps. Since our skin becomes a lot more delicate/softer over time from hormones, it’s essential to ensure that the abrasiveness of shaving is met with a process to reduce as much harm to the skin as possible. Exfoliating post shave is going to make it so the follicles from the shave or dulled (so when trade touches your face you’re not super prickly), as well as make it so that the follicles don’t curl into themselves in the hair shaft (ingrown hairs = razor bumps attack). I personally love to use Apricot Scrub by St. Ives or the drugstore brand when I’m being a cheapy, or Clean + Clear Morning Burst oil free wash. However, I’ve heard lots of estheticians complain that this scrub has triangle shaped beads which can be hard on the skin. If you have more sensitive skin- a hypoallergenic acne wash with exfoliating beads should do the trick. BONUS TIP: If you suffer from hyperpigmentation from shaving (5 o clock shadow) and razor bumps, a dope trick I learned from a barber shop back in the day is to use a face towel with super hot water and to do compresses on the area you shaved for about 10 minutes after you shave.
  2. If you want silky smooth and radiant legs- Exfoliate after you shave them. It’s so easy to forget and miss this step when you’re in a rush or doing a quick run through. But for soft to the touch legs without the prickly feeling (now if you missed a spot- that’s on you… exfoliating isn’t THAT magical), using any of the products listed above should help. Again, I recommend the Apricot Scrub because you can scrub is vigorously on your legs to reduce ingrown hairs, goose bumps, razor bumps, etc. Make sure you rinse thoroughly.
  3. For softer skin, use a loofa or sponge when you shower. Remember how I said I’m partial to body wash? I LOVE body wash. It’s probably because I use a big fat loofa, and I scrub when I bathe, BUT I also love Body Polish or Body Scrubs. Using a body scrub sort of allows you to not have to use a loofa because of the formulation of the product, and it also kinda feels weird to rub exfoliating beads AND a loofa all over but you can certainly do it. Using a loofa everyday when you bathe is definitely a foundation towards smooth skin you’ll want in your arsenal. For my sisters using bar soap straight on the body… that’s moisturizing, sure, but not exfoliating.
  4. Genital Area exfoliating. This is more towards my pre-op sisters as they wouldn’t have an exposed orifice (post op sisters), but I can edit this post to feature an alternative. If you Nair or Veet or use any depilatory creams on your genital area/ or you know “dat ass” or “back/down there type tea”, you want the area to remain smooth and healthy (depilatory creams are super easy and convenient, but its BURNING THE HAIR OFF OF YOUR SKIN… and if you leave it on your sac too long….. hunnnyyyyy…. the skin sheds for days). What you can do is the day you use a depilatory cream of sorts (or even waxing), after the process is complete and you’ve showered and such… moisturize the area with tea tree oil or aloe vera or hydro cortisone cream (what I use). Avoid putting scented lotions and all that ish on the day of since you’ve exposed your skin in the most abrasive way (almost burned it). The NEXT day (not the same day… trust me), you want to use any of the exfoliating products I mentioned above and Gently exfoliate with a scrub the area. The remainder of the week (until you nair again) you can use a loofa as you normally would. Make sure you are restoring moisture back into those areas ladies!!! In between thong wearing and sex and such those spots you’ve used Nair on can become dry hella quick. Shea butter, coconut oil, baby oil… anything to put hydration back into your skin is a must- every day. For my post op ladies- to be on the safe side (who wants exfoliating beads everywhere every which way?), you’ll want to begin to use that loofa the next day, and moisturize with any of the products I just listed. This is assuming you’ve gone through treatments of electrolysis and/or laser when you had surgery so you’re hair cycles are minimized in a way that should reduce chances of ingrown hairs. My pre-op sisters may not have had those procedures, therefore the hair is still quite dense down there, and therefore might be prone to break outs, ingrown hairs, razor bumps, etc. Also… if you are shaving down there as opposed to Nair: Follow the same steps 🙂
  5. My sisters on limited funds: You’re reading this like GIRL, I can’t really cop anything you listed at the moment. I feel it. For the times I couldn’t, I simply used a loofa ($1 at local drug store). I also used baby oil back then too. So yes, use the loofa every day and know that there is a hierarchy to moisturizing (oils are the best; lotions are second best), so you can use baby oil, olive oil, etc.

And there you have it.


4 easy steps to exfoliate towards flawless skin.






cocaine part ii: unavailable men 

When I wanted you the most – you were unavailable.  
I felt I couldn’t have you. I, always wanting to win, felt/feel like I was challenged to win your gaze.
I know you weren’t mine completely. so I romanticised the moments spent, expanded them in my mind so as to comfort my heart in knowing that there was a current there. Knowing and wondering and wishing are all completely different battles that seem worth losing on the inside, and in this weird way the gumbo of these feelings somehow blend together to form a uniqueness in love affairs with me. 
part of my process in loving you are those long weeks without you, where my phone vibrates with texts of love from everyone but you. it’s those moments where I stand on the subway platform scanning the speeding train windows blurring past me in search of your face to look back at me. it’s those moments leaving the office late at night with the sound of heels clicking on pavement, half expecting to round the corner with you standing there in a pea coat and scarf, smiling and grabbing my hand to walk with me. it the moments where I sit in a cafe sipping espresso, and it’s raining, and I see a wind swept couple entering together in laughter as he reaches his arm around her bundled waist and they order drinks together and I wonder if that could one day be you and I.
so when I’m with you, and we lay in bed together post sex and radiating in warmth- my face buried beneath your bicep and clinging to your ribcage- your index finger lightly stroking my neck to the rhythm of the downbeat of your heart- it seems that I’m missing out on all of what we could be. It feels comforting to finally reach this level of euphoria- the religious nature of me internally feeling guilty for indulging in bliss, secretly awaiting pending consequences for inhaling carelessly this very moment.
because hell is seeing you and me in my dreams, only to wake up alone.

but then, like always, you cave in to my pleads and threats of ending us, and you promise to put me first. the mind games with each other slowly dissipate, and the eery sense of wonder evaporates. 
and then I, manicured nails scrolling through my iPhone call log with your missed calls and texts… 
don’t want you anymore. because you were once unavailable and now you are- a motif in the majority of my relationships- I then transition from your recreational high to your addiction, become more unavailable and prized to you then you are now to me.

I fall in love with unavailable men. I can’t articulate if it’s the thrill or the taboo or if it’s insanity or if it’s a branch from some unaddressed trauma in my past. I wish I could tell you where it comes from. it’s so much more complicated than I ever realized before- and this epiphany weighs on me more and more. because I should now want you more and more. but the more available you are for me, the less I want you. and this is a struggle within my heart I will never comprehend…
Xoxo, A



I couldn’t let TDOR pass without writing and commemorating the lives of our sisters that were taken this year. I apologize for the belated post, as I realize the ceremonies were this past Friday. 

271 angels were taken from this life prematurely. Taken with anger and the most gruesome deaths. As I sat in the pews of the Mills College chapel and the list of names were read- detailing their deaths with the incidents before their last breath, I couldn’t help but shiver with the feelings of their blood crying out of the ground. I couldn’t help but literally place myself in the massacre as the victim- imagining myself clinging to the ground as the men who seek to terminate my existence stepped towards me hurriedly, seeking to eliminate my life force they come with knives and guns, acid and stones. As I wail to to the heavens pleading for someone- to God- to finally hear my cries. 
I liken transgender women to Angels because of how beautiful we are, how magical we are. How powerful and feared we are. How misunderstood we are. Anyone with a sense of angel references in the bible know that Angels were beautiful, feared, and more importantly treated in the most cruel ways. (https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+19
TS girls are the most spiritually enlightened people on the planet. It’s such an amazing thing to know gurus and popes and preachers. But they don’t fight a war with the other 6+ billion people to survive. They’re not challenged with the day to day reality that to question your God given sex and to change it- the only disposition were born with- is a cause for us to be punished. They’re not followed as beacons of light for their resiliency in being, of forsaking stories and actualizations and precepts of religion and God to live authentically in a way in which you have to do away with everything you know and live. They’re not revered for journeying the planet alone- the lonely weeks and months spent post transitioning, and battling the insecurities of a decision that leaves you without family, friends, respect from others, and pride. They’re not seen as knowing the way, or guiding the life paths of others because they are not labeled are crazy, or abominations.
 The sweet, tender, fun loving souls of my sisters with all these obstacles against us, still find ways to have a hearty laugh on the sex stroll of the seedy urban jungle. We still find ways to bring culture and class and the epitomization of beauty and perfection in the ballroom scene and pageants- a testament that the most beautiful souls can have been in a fiery furnace and still come out lovely as ever. We still prevail, against all odds,, to breathe day to day- an act of revolution, but an act of resilience. To redefine our bodies and like artists, create anew against the vision and perceptions of others. 
we are more powerful than our minds will ever digest. 

271 angels had their inner light, their innocence, their dreams of being, their fight, their light- vanquished in the most undignified ways- with the misunderstanding that we don’t deserve to live. That we don’t deserve to breathe. Our light is to prominent- too era descent for the simple vision and ziplocked brains of this dimension. They continue to seek a way to diminish that glow, by stoning us as examples to others; burning us on stakes in village squares; dismembering and decapitating our physicality as symbolically destroying the power of our very essence. 
To my sisters who were taken against their will since the dawn of time, year after year, I pray that heaven is rejoicing in your return. I pray that God granted special significance to you in the afterlife, and that you imparted a particle of your spirit- a piece of your torment in your last waking hours as fuel, motivation for the rest of us Angels on this side of heaven- to continue to fight the world for liberty and the pursuit of happiness; to continue to fight the world day to day, to live. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Exist. Shine our lights and radiate whilst travailing the fiery furnace of this life and its rules and the humans who misunderstand us through their actions. 
Each day I await what might be my inevitable end- I wait for when the man who asks for my number to then become the monster who destroys me. Hyper vigilant, I walk in both fear and expectation that the corner I turn will be my ending destination; that the man I let upstairs into my apartment will be different than the others because he will be the one to extinguish my fire. The radical nature of existence, my wails to the heavens as my nails dig into asphalt clinging to survive, my light, my breath. My last breath will magically scribe my name to the scroll of other Angels to be read with candlelight on November 20th, and that that will be the only legacy I leave behind. And when time passes, I will become a fleeting memory to those I loved, reminisced on with cognac at social gatherings for only a moment, and that the world will subconsciously write me off as a deceiver of man- a man in women’s garments who got what she/he deserved.  
This year, I pray, that we do everything we can towards the advancement of all the TS covens: the hijra; the stealth girls; the old white transwomen; the bricks; the passable ones; the pigmented ones; the drug addicted ones; the poor ones; the rich ones; the lesbian ones; the weird ones; the showgirl ones; the gender fluid ones; the ambitious and androgynous ones; the ones who throw shade and the ones that don’t; the incarcerated ones; the ones with HIV; the ones with SSI; the ones who strip and escort; the ones who are ghetto and ratchet; the ones who are reserved; the ones who’s gender identity does not match their sex assigned at birth. Let us fight for the advancement of our kind regardless of where the fiery furnace led us to be. Even if it is simply breathing day by day. 
Because we’re all beautifully and wonderfully made Angels who are and were more powerful than our mind can digest. We’re all fiery flames who fight to keep burning, who could all face the same end.