Between a door that led me back into myself and a door that had not yet learned my name, I stood. I knew I had to listen to a song that had long been playing beneath the sound of my burning. I had been standing so far from myself that only fragments of it reached me through the ashes. I thought I was burning inside a volcano, until I realised the mountain was my body, and the lava was the path my voice had found to make its way out. I no longer wait for the winter winds; the song is not coming from afar it moves through a crack within me. Perhaps I am not meant to choose between the doors. Perhaps something within me, long before I knew, had already found the direction of its flight.