new scandal with a buffalo

it's hard to tell if someone can turn writing ability on and off, in this case i'm hoping to turn something on. i just got back from a 9 days vacation of sitting on a leather couch in a cluttered yet artistic original triplex with my a girl i get along with so well it is as if we share the same mind, we actually share the same name. as i was there breathing in the portland gloom it felt weird and surreal to be there once again. i drove down roads thinking about the last time i had been on these roads and streets. i hugged people that brought me back to a different place in my life, but it all felt good. i feel like i ran away from some of these people and seeing them again is small comfort.

at one point i sat by the fireplace on a wooden stool with no back rest, i made a fire. i watched this fire rise and i watched it lose flame and ash down but i'd never let it die. one more piece of wood. just one more. but eventually i will have to leave this stool and focus my energy on another subject. someone can only linger around a uncertain fire for so long, keeping the fire alive makes no different on how long the spark will last but it makes me weak. the wood will burn black and the flame will snap out and finally the red glow of the ashes will fade away. the ending result is a empty dirty fire pit just ready to dusted off and start again.

but i really liked this fire