The harsh fumes of toxins and ash filled my nostrils, saturating the inner cartilage and hair with the intolerable stench of things lost forever. I sat on the curb while the firefighters ran up to the flames with hoses, aged and dirty, dragging through puddles of gasoline and waste water left behind by yesterday’s storm. Watching the flames lick up the plume of water pummeling out from the nozzles, I was suddenly drawn into the memory of a high school science class.

On the board the word “Energy” was circled.

“So you see, nothing can be created, or destroyed” The professor had gray hair and he pointed at the board with a piece of chalk, tapping it to make his point.

My classmates were chatting amongst themselves, and in my memory only I was paying attention. It seemed to be just me and his words in the room. While I was sucked up in the memory, I imagined what it would be like to be sitting in that very room on that very day, hearing the exact same words, but in the context of now, of the fire lapping at the flames, consuming everything.

I raised my hand, “If nothing is created or destroyed, then where exactly has all my stuff gone?”

Sure, plastic and wood might combust into smoke, but what about the other things? Where do memories go? Do they evaporate into the air and spread themselves along the surface of the world? Do they leak into our dreams when we sleep? Are they responsible for the ozone corroding?

If no energy is created or destroyed, then what is created when hope is snuffed out? When dreams are burnt?

I watched the flames collapse the roof in on its self, and it occurred to me no question should be answered in the same breath it’s asked.