The sparks he generates often flicker softly to life, creating a perfect and manageable fire which can reach right into your heart and keep you warm long after the flame turns to ember, then ash.
Other times, those little sparks burst into a raging inferno and those closest to him must seek shelter from the firestorm about to engulf them. The flames extinguish themselves quickly enough, but the damage left in their wake takes time to repair.
Bipolar is funny like that.
He surprises me sometimes. Recently, one of those little sparks set a blaze which tore through my home with such force. Before I had a chance to douse the flames, it snuffed itself out as it often does, and I sat in the silence while the smoke cleared.
Sometimes, in spite of the destructive nature these wild flames possess, something unexpected and good rises from the ashes they’ve left behind. He came to me, calm . . . as though nothing had happened, wondering why I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. I’ve learned to simply move on, wipe off the soot and just look ahead.
He’d written something he wanted me to see. I received this message on my computer a short while later: Steady is the mind that fixes, angry is the mind that destroys. If we wish to change something, to fix the problems that befall us, it cannot be done with a fist, but with a stand. And you fix any grammar errors that may or may not be present.
Sparks. He is filled with beautiful, sometimes scary, always passionate – sparks.
He is a good man. His heart is so good. He would never intentionally set a fire he thought could bring anything but warmth and comfort, he doesn’t even seem to know when one of those wayward sparks begins to burn out of control.
He is a good, good man.