painting a blackened and charred version of the hollowness they left me. A more accurate depiction. The stone won’t burn. I like that. To leave smoke stains and walls enclosing ashes. A shell of what was. Of what isn’t. A fortress of all that was stolen. Erased, if you will. Ivy can be terribly difficult to eradicate after all. You might say I’m simply doing my part to accomplish what they began. But the thing about burning ivy—the poisonous kind—is that those plumes of smoke release
