If I had been asked in that moment what my mother’s first name is or what street I live on, I don’t think that I would have been able to remember. The center of my world had become the fire, cracking through the air that was already warmed by the circle of bodies closed in tight around it. My arms had become numb from being draped around the sweaty shoulders on either side of me, but I never lowered them. Campers swayed in opposite directions to the music, causing breaks in the circle that were patched up with smiles until arms were replaced over shoulders with the next strum of the guitar. Memories of food fights, late nights chats under the pagoda, pushing friends into the lake, whispering secrets to stars from a bunk window, all filled me with happiness that collected in this moment. I could recall a specific memory that I made throughout the summer with each individual person around me, headlines popping into my mind as I read each of their illuminated faces.  Some sang the melody of the song with an enthusiasm that caused their eyebrows to knit, while others shook their heads and beamed at the otherworldly sight of so many hugs taking place at one time. The vibrations of the guitar recomposed each of our heartbeats until our hearts were synchronized with the song.
   

“Ain’t it enough,” we sang, “to live by the ways of the world, to be part of the picture, whatever it’s worth.”
   

The cold dirt seeping between my toes as I shifted my weight to the beat of the song was enough to make me feel grounded. The balmy air was enough for me to suck in so I could belt out the next line. The familiar faces surrounding me were enough to make me feel at home. The fire was enough to sting my eyes so that I couldn't tell if the fat tears I had built up were caused by the heat or the wonder that I got to call this sliver of the world mine.

My dry eyes stared blankly into a sharp screen one month later. Hibernating under blankets, not feeling satisfied enough to call it a day, I scrolled through my feed in search of some piece of this summer. My eyelids became heavy and my whole body became fidgety, begging to let go of another twenty-four hours that were indistinguishable from all other school days. Coming across the same illuminated faces that had surrounded the campfire, I was now overwhelmed with an influx of memories that were not mine. The screen displayed arrays of smiles and skylines and sayings. Small parts of me were pulled in different directions as I pictured myself alongside my each of my friends in their lives that continued after the summer. I had the whole world in the palm of my hand, and it was not enough.