I have a fire altar in my living room.
Living perched in a bird’s eye tree fort, on a house of cards with a questionable foundation, I forgo the ability to have a proper fireplace. But I can place my candles in a circle. I can light them at night and squint at their flicker in the darkness. I can still sigh and stare and relax with them at the end of a good day. Or I can drop my seething, my frustrations, off there and watch them burn up into smoke.