Smoke fills the nostrils with each breath. Fire cannot be seen. But it has to be somewhere to cause eyes to sting this way. It is widespread. It doesn't seem to matter how far it feels you travel. It just hangs there, heavily in the air. It feels like it is foreshadowing an ominous event instead of following one. Or perhaps it is only there for me. To represent the sheer confusion and smoke in my mind as I prod fires that have long since burned out.
It doesn't seem to matter how long ago the fires burned out. I seem to always feel compelled to wander back and see if I can spark anything. I grasp at every straw, hoping it will be the one. And when it isn't I abandon I til the next compulsion.
I can rationalize it all but the truth is it never leaves me making s'mores. It just leaves me feeling even colder than I was before. I wish I could just have a sense of finality when each fire runs its course and finally fades out to nothing. But I can't. So I will probably be breathing in the smoky air for a long time.
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