Before it’s even struck…you know what the sound of a match makes when it runs along the grooved edge of its box. “Hear it?”
And the colors the chemicals create when they ignite. “See it?”
You know nothing of each other…but get that same feeling.
Like that box of matches were shaking in your stomach.
The fire could be seen flickering in their eyes.
So in love they were in love with being in love.
But if they held that match upright…the fire would go out.
It could not live off the charred past.
For it to last it would need to be turned upside down…burning the hands that held it.
But if they balanced it right…they could at least burn for as long as possible.
Working its way down the rectangular piece of wood,…the flame would go in…and out…until it reached the tips of their fingers…where they held it so delicately.
They released their fingers…and the used matchstick spun to the ground,…breaking apart before even hitting the floor.
It was dark.
But no light was needed to smell the smoke.
They take a deep breath.
Breathing in what’s left of each other.