It’s easy for sparks to be mistaken for something bigger. A glow can feel like a promise, a flame like a direction. But I’m not trying to lead anyone anywhere. I’m just here, a small fire flickering in the dark, offering a place to rest for a moment.
There’s something in showing up without asking for anything, without burning too bright or demanding attention. Just existing in a space and letting the warmth exist too, without expectation, without claim.
I wonder how often people confuse comfort for possession, presence for attachment. And I wonder how often I do too.
Being a campfire means choosing to burn softly, choosing to let the night be felt, choosing to offer light without expecting it to change anything. That’s what I want, anyway… to be a little light, steady enough to see by, and nothing more.