Have you ever lit a match and watched it burn… waited for it to burn… all the way up to your fingers? The heat getting closer and closer… you know its going to hurt… but watching that flame is mesmerizing… its so little…it dances… captivating your attention… distracting you to the fact that getting burnt hurts… it hurts A LOT.
Lighting a match starts with a strike… a physical act. You don’t accidentally light a match. There is intent… a thought…. a reason…. There is no maybe sorta…. You either have combustion or you don’t. A decision… an act… flame.
scrape…
whoosh…
the tell tail smell that burns your nostrils…
gray tendrils of smoke…
irrefutable evidence.
The match jumps to life with a flare. Gasps and settles right down…. Hold it vertically you have a tiny spot of light that burns a slow steady speed. Horizontally, less time, bigger flame… it’s more spectacular in its movement, more animated in life.
Playfully flirting with your breath that little light begins consuming the matchstick.
Time is short…The glow inviting. Warmth in every sense of the word.
Matches contain possibilities and the unavoidable assumption of risk... the questions become: Are you brave enough to light one? And how long do you hold on until you risk getting burnt?
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