It has been eight years since I looked at you the same.

You used to bring warmth, laughter and gatherings with those I loved.

But now you fill me with fear and doubt.

Maybe if you hadn't chose my cabin

to so peacefully burn amidst my sleeping family that night,

maybe, I would still enjoy your presence.

I hope you were content stealing memories inside of the cabin walls.

Demolishing the journals, the photos- the fifty years of life that lied within.

I hope you were content stealing memories my family can never get back.

But if one time wasn't enough, maybe twice was.

Maybe my basement, my first pet Landon, and baby books, 

were finally enough for you to steal from me. 

I will never forget awakening to the heat of your flames,

creeping up on my pillow case.

Or the terror you brought to my family.

While I have made peace with you,

you've shown me your greed is unstoppable,

and only time can tell when you will return.