matchsticks

matchsticks (a work in progress)

When I picked up the box of matches, I knew something was wrong. Something was . . . different. Looking back, it was the tone of his voice. I was too excited to see him that I didn't notice the hesitation, the uneasiness. I pulled a single match from the box and jerked it across the side. Like magic - the blue head burst into orange and red. Kind of like a flower. The thought made me laugh. Maybe God made flowers bloom slowly so we wouldn't be scared, deceived into thinking the entire plant was bursting into flames.

That's ridiculous. The candle began to glow and drip wax onto the sugary cupcake. He insisted I didn't make a cake. "I'm trying to lose weight," he said. So I made a cupcake and took the other 23 to work. I shook the match out in my hand. He doesn't need to lose weight.

That's ridiculous.