It wasn't until I lit a match for a bunsen burner today when I realized I hadn't done so in a really long time. Maybe several years? There is just something different between clicking the button on a lighter versus striking a match head on a pebbled edge... and it further reminded me of the Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson. Fearing castigation by her father due to unsold matches, the little match seller stands on the street alone on the last night of the year. Finally, she begins striking her own matches to relieve herself from the frigid biting air. Unexpectedly, each flame burgeons into a soothing scene. This is just like crying. A liberating catharsis..
...but when tears evaporate and flames turn to ash, the indelible reality always resurfaces. Troubles are still troubles and nothing has changed.
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