Molotov Cocktails

I wanted to take pictures last night at Kurt and Arnold's, but my camera battery died. So far it's the only thing I don't like about it: it dies fast, and without warning.

Tonight I was ready, but no one wanted to be in the photo. We had a burning. There were ten of us, and most had just exited relationships. The idea was to bring items that reminded you of your ex, and burn them under the mango tree. When I came home it was well under way.

I guess I don't have that kind of anger. I want to move on, but not like this. I don't think any of the guys brought anything, although we definitely helped the women smash and burn. And oh did they bring stuff to burn. Gifts, stuffed animals, letters ... and in one case all the Christmas decorations she had bought to decorate a tree for him. We'd fill the red and green balls up with alcohol, add a few drops from her collection of essential oils, and then whip them into the fire - shiny little Molotov cocktails, scented with lavender.

There was something a bit sad about it all. All memories fade. The memories of pain will fade, and the memories of happiness will fade, until all we have is the present. We don't need to hurry forgetfulness on its way.