volcán

cacao. coffee. fire.

On the night of the new moon, when the sky was dark enough to see everything, the elders gathered around the fire.

They ground the cacao slowly. added something dark and concentrated — two roots from the same ancient soil, meeting for the first time as if they always knew this moment would come.

A whisper of Ceylon cinnamon. offered to the stars.

they drank it to feel everything. the heat. the surrender. the moment when the body forgets where it ends.

and then the mountain answered.

red and molten and alive, rising from somewhere deep — through the chest, through the blood, all the way up to wherever the stars begin.

volcán.