I remember,

when I smelled the familiar odor of smoke and looked around the kitchen. It was a rather grand failure of a Valentines Day, with the exception of watching the Shining and getting drunk with a few good friends. Only to come home and hear my roommate say something about my floor being on fire. I looked out our window to my studio and saw exactly what he meant. I felt a moment of "De Ja Vu, the calmness that kicks in during reliving the same crisis twice. I watched the window I once looked out of burst with flames and new that I would once again have a lighter material weight in the morning.