Again and again, but not this time.

Fog catches the orange glow far off in the distance, my mind tells me no, but my heart panics.

Crackling fires formed from love and calm release a warm smell of ash to drift through the air, gently caressing my thoughts, but setting my mind ablaze.

Sirens wail their hopeful cry, shrouded in the darkness of night. Their tone means help, but to my ears it screams terror.

It’ll never truly leave. Here we’re scared for life.

Again and again we’re terrified, but this time it’s not real.

Images of nights passed flash in our daily life, fears resurface, the world spins. But we are safe, we were spared from danger.

We who were merely affected, and not drastically disadvantaged. We still suffer. We may still have homes, but we can still smell the smoke. We can still feel the terror. We can still breathe in the night air and sense a darkness that should never have been.

We are survivors too.

We are still here.

We may not be burn victims. We may not have lost everything.

But we all have lost a part of ourselves no replacement can recover.

We were still affected.

We were all affected.

We all, for a moment, went through hell.