Tonight was the beginning of my series of autumn nights. At exactly 8:00 PM, I scurried out my front door, clutching onto the building blocks of a proper bonfire- marshmallows, gram crackers, Hershey's chocolate, a camera, and metal skewers. Though inconveniently planned on a Sunday night, I couldn't help but tune out the cries of my numerous assignments and drive to my buddy Caleb's house. The fire itself was absolutely perfect. Equipped with my loose burgundy sweater, I sat with some of my closest companions in a pocket of warmth and light (a wonderful contrast to the mild 57 degree air). The light breeze carried stories and worries.
It's nights like these that I treasure. When I'm with friends, it's like there's a barrier against my dysthymia and anxieties. I'm pulled out of my typical numbness and the space is filled with companionship. When I can't produce feelings myself, the people I'm with intimately share theirs. The voice that mocks me saying that I'm insignificant to all that I encounter is hushed. Its claims of isolation are temporarily proven wrong. I'm resurrected, alive.
There's something special about sitting in a circle for hours, physically doing nothing, yet having so much enjoyment solely because of the love of the people around you. It's ironic, really. There's more excitement in staring at a flame and conversing than in an eight hour school day, where I just come home dead. I know that the raw secrets I learn at night will outlive the equations I memorize on weekday mornings. On Monday morning, I'll yet again wake with dread, but the scent of smoke that lingers on my skin will promise me that everything I felt the previous night was real, is real, and that will fuel me until next Friday.
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