Fire Left Its Flame
With Ice
Hey. It’s imi with ya boy, HVR (Hawtorn V. Rabot). You already know what we do.
Imi makes it all so pretty. She really does. I just open a scar or cut. I hope it lands on the page or screen enough. This scab hasn’t healed yet. It’ll do.
Get your matches. Grab some ice. It might get a little heated up in this bitch.
Remember, ice burns, too.
Grab some Advil.
Fire, imi.
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedWhen the clock passed quarter midnight,
our souls touched,
and the universe remembered.
You and I
were two sparks
once living in the same flame,
where love and pain
were always entwined.
I showed you the parts of me
no one else had ever reached.
You saw the shadows you buried,
the desires you censored,
the wounds you pretended were healed.
If I had known today I could trust you,
if I had known on any other day
that my heart would be safe with you,
I would have dropped everything
and found my home in you.
You arrived like a tornado wrecking my life. Then you never left. Said I was nice. I was kind. I wanted you to stay. Your issues were so much, your life – the wind. You kept yourself so busy doing… nothing, a twister without an eye. You just moved right on in with no bags.
That was our second week knowing each other…
I know. I know it. I shoulda seen it.
I DID see it.
I let it happen.
It’s on me, it’s not just on you.
I hate myself for that, but I also understand it now.
Cut to imi.
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedWhat once felt radiant
now hides beneath indifference.
But listen
I keep missing you,
even after all the accusations
you put me through
On the nights I put myself to sleep
imagining I am in your arms again,
for every minute that feels like a sin,
for every dream that keeps me captive
under the expression you wear,
in the subtle softening of your voice,
in the echo you leave behind—
The timelines, expectations, and family were heavy. I was crushed underneath; I’m just not that strong or I didn’t lift with my legs. Like a good smiley little bitch, I went down on one knee. Your drama continued, your friends sucked, the wedding was shit, and the honeymoon… I wish I hadn’t gone. Then we were together, so happy, so in love.
No.
I was just so glad to not be alone.
Even though I lost myself.
Even more.
Your erratic behaviors got worse, and you refused any help. The shadow of your perception of the world was your reality.
Defensive and indecisive every day all the time not 24/7 it was 48/8.
I was tired already.
Imi, don’t hurt em.
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedBut when you reached out the other day,
every truth I fought for
slipped out of place.
My heart broke its pace,
reminding me
I have never learned
how to survive you.
Something in me believes
you are the one soul I circle back to,
the one I am meant to
meet again and again.
Not because it is easy.
Not because it is certain.
But because there is a thread
between us, thin and luminous,
tugging softly across time.
I know you love me
in your strange, unsteady way.
Not perfectly.
Not reliably.
But unmistakably.
Yet a wounded love is no soil
for flowers to flourish.
You left again and again over and over and again. You weaponized it and made me feel weak. I was surrounded by eggshells. I crushed them even when they weren’t there. I shriveled and shrunk some more like a good husband. Then you left me there on that trip during COVID.
That was it. Over and done.
Only six or so months later we were back. Of course.
I quit needing therapy as my life came back together. But you returned.
You told me how much the break would suck if I didn’t go to that party. How much you would punish me. I told you about Omicron, but it was go and get sick or hear about it forever.
Guess who got it first? “Vaccine only” my ass. Like it even works that way.
I was so out of it, and you took advantage.
I didn’t remember pro-tection, and now you were pro-egnant.
Shit.
I was looking at another separation. I never told you that.
I got it in gear, sold the place, found somewhere new, and moved us 45 minutes away. Left everything I knew for a decade. I think I still haven’t recovered from that stress.
She was born, and for once? I knew love.
From you? I learned hate as you took out everything everywhere on me even more than before.
Never enough, never good enough, I still suck, always and forever. Amen.
Only now I started noticing. I nodded and smiled, but my mind was waking up. My body was telling me what I knew all along. Still I went. Provided. Protected.
I STILL do.
“It’s PPD. It’s okay.” It was never okay when I was anxious or stressed. PPD is real. So is all the shit I know so well that you ignored.
Give em ice, imi.
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There wasn't anything left to say
When you threw my truth away,
turning toward shadows
to soothe your pain,
I spent months
being accused,
again and again, without reason,
and everything I said
dissolved before it touched you.
Even now, I’m not sure you hear me.
The flame that once burned deeply within
has turned into a quiet ache.
I had enough. I began to write. Turns out the strong silent type has something to say.
Turns out it’s not normal to be raped in a locker room, abused by your buddy’s stepmom, abused at home, forced on meds, and end up in endless cycles of the above. It’s weird. Who knew? Not me.
I was silenced long before and shamed to a shut mouth.
Grooming does shit. No wonder I had enough, but I failed to end it those years prior.
As I wrote it out, you didn’t like it. Said it was angry. Upsetting. Nobody would ever want to see it. I cried with what I learned, and you stayed safe in telling me it was not comfortable for you.
I WAS DROWNING IN THAT LAKE!!!
You were in the boat. No hand offered.
Fuck.
You were on the shore saying, “Maybe he’ll make it. Maybe not.”
My hurt turned to rage. You demanded another child. My body no longer worked like that. Not since I can’t, but my body already loathed you.
I was still in denial. It’s inconvenient.
It’s time for fire, imi.
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And so I have to say,
I know we can never be.
I have sat with that truth endlessly.
I want to leave you behind
as I move forward,
because when the idea of you stays,
you wait behind hidden corners,
calling me back in quiet ways.
It isn’t you—
it’s me
who can’t let you fade.
And I hate myself for that,
because you walked away
long before I ever strayed.
All the years you gaslit me, made me into your golden retriever, made me doubt myself and memories? Did you pick up that’s what’s been done my whole life?
I told my mom, and she said the same. It’s just too hard.
WHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?
I was the living embodiment of service and selflessness, but now I was too much?
All those ladies you were jealous of, why? I never even thought badly, even when I could. I chose you. Even when I woulda been happier not to. Not for you.
For our daughter.
We got to Colombia, and I was still pissed. I’m not taking it anymore ever again, you b….. unkind person. You didn’t like it when I spoke up. You hated it when others pointed out how wrong you were. Again and again over and over once twice thrice.
They loved me, and you HATED it.
So you left me while I was on an excursion.
Even after I told you how I could do it. You said no.
You wanted to inconvenience my friends and those who put you in your place.
Burn it down, imi.
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedSo I am begging softly,
the way a tired heart pleads:
please spare me
from the idea of you—
the rope that tightens,
loosens, then tightens again,
until I have neither breath
nor freedom left.
My soul stayed bound
to a pact written long before I settled.
I will burn bridges,
blow up worlds if I must,
if that is what I owe
for our flame to never return whole.
I got to the hotel near death. I couldn’t stop spinning, sweating, and pacing. I was in that bed reliving, rethinking. I wasn’t sure if it would be this way the scythe came. I was ready, but I had to write out the joke of love and marriage we had.
I wrote that book in four sittings in real time as a royal fuck you to you and your doubts and hate. The second doctor said it was close. He didn’t know how I made it. He also saw my scars, bruises, and pain. He shook his head and called me “hermano.”
You called that hotel and said you’d come back. I laughed and said leave it.
Then my mom turned on me.
Fuck both of you. Wait, respect to mothers — fornicate under consent of king off, mom.
I dedicate my book to you two.
Without your hate and doubt?
I’d have never believed I could.
I need some ice, imi. This hurts.
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedI have to say it
I am saying everything at once—
my fear, my definition of love,
and everything I am ready to leave behind.
It’s you.
This is to all those who ever played the fool and made it weird. Who turned us against ourselves. To you? Fuck you. Fuck you twice. Fuck you more.
To those of you who had support, kept it real, and kept us going?
All love.
Where’s some ice? For real, I’m all sore now. You, imi?
Advil? It’s aching.
I’ll need some stitches. Imi, do you have a needle, thread, and still hands?
Mine are shaking.
Imi, HVR, out.
Authors note:
This piece was not written, it was survived. A great amount of effort went into shaping it, holding the emotion it carried and for the audio.
If our work moved you and you feel called to support what we are building here, we would truly appreciate you considering going paid. Pieces like this take a lot from us, even though they give back through connection and resonance. Your support is what keeps this space alive and allows me to keep creating the work I care about.
Thank you for being here, for reading, and for meeting us in the places that are often hard to share.
If you would like to trace the origins back to my side of the story, I tell it here. Below you can find the the myth of fire and ice. The Myth Before The Flame.
- imi
