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Fire



There’s beauty in everything, but the beauty in the rage of fire is something that definitely stands apart from the rest. Lighting fires just to watch the flames swallow up everything was fascinating to me and had always been and I don’t know what that says about me. Ashes are just remains until you know what they were before they were reduced to the ashes that lie there only to be blown away by the wind. There’s also a comfort in the warmth of a cigarette. I never understood how something burning in your hands could make you feel powerful in a way that nothing else could. Forest fires signify the power of this fiery rage and I’m glad we were taught to not play with fire. There’s a notion that fire is always powerful which brings me to think that if it really were so, then why do we feel like a candle flame that is about to burn out?

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