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Ryan Pittington

I bought flowers for myself, dahlias, like I always buy. It was different this time because they were not a melancholy purple-black; they were a sunburst – a bright orange and yellow. They were flames. I got them to signify the phoenix. I am always the phoenix, always rising, always having fallen. Often, I command myself to reform; I demand that I be reborn. I look in mirrors. I say: Never again. This time, I said: you are already the phoenix. Do nothing. You will rise.

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