All it takes is a match, discarded from the window of a rusty truck. A slip of the tongue, a throwaway line from the lips of a lover. A fire, set purposefully on my edges, meant to ignite but never to catch. And suddenly, the whole forest is alight.
I am the gumtree that burns so ferociously. All the undergrowth, home to so much love and so much history, heating like a furnace. Cooking and boiling and destroying anything lovely and fragile. Heartbreak thriving on my oxygen, my love of life feeding the destruction. Burning into my sternum and through my body. Stripping the life from my branches and leaving them bare and broken.
It's hard to put out an Australian bushfire. It's a dry, dry, place, and eucalyptus is so eager to burn. The flames jump from tree to tree, unrelenting and powerful. A spectacle of light and colour. Dangerous beyond belief. There's not enough manpower or water to stop my heartbreak in its tracks. When the fire runs out of oxygen, it will sizzle. It will sizzle and the smoke will clear and the destruction will be visible. A blackened horizon. Branches dangling, thin, broken, dead or dying. The sweet smell of eucalyptus mingling with the death of my love.
But the thing about bushfires is that the bush does not cease to be. The same ashes that are a reminder of love lost provide the most fertile soil for seedlings. Parts of my heart that have not been turned to charcoal will root in the soil and begin to grow. It does not happen overnight. It does not happen in a week or even in months, but it does happen and the bush will recover. Not only does the bush return to its beauty, but it is stronger for the fire. And so my heartbreak is a bushfire, and I, the burning trees, will return. And I will stand tall, and beautiful, and fragile as ever.
