I tried to strike this
sad, single, match, it was the one remaining in the box, and it
splintered and sputtered and I muttered and moved
to throw it away, but you said no; carefully placed it tenderly back in
the box, and this is how you treat every single thing, with
love and care, seeing its potential, you tenderly hold it and give it
worth and now, months later, I opened the matchbox and saw the single
match. I threw it away, I must tell you,
I don’t’ treat all things as precious and to me, it is just a match
but I thought of you in that fleeting moment,
as I opened a new box, and struck a new match –
you were there, glimmering in the light.