Matchbook

A paper match rips out of its book, I stare at it for a moment, a moment that expands for what feels like a lifetime. I think about that last hug, warm and tight it lingered for so long it made me uncomfortable at the time, now I dream of it, when it’s dark and I am alone I can still feel it around my body. I do not want to do this, but there is a life I must leave behind, one I must burn away like a tattoo one regrets or a mistake made whole.

I will watch it from afar now, keeping it in the back of my mind like a sheathed knife only to emerge when the time is so desperate it calls for it. Like a keepsake one can look upon and think of bittersweet memories, the cross my grandmother gave me when I was young and full of joy, the cross that means something very different to me now.

My leathery hands, older than they have the right to be grasp onto the book and small flimsy match, fingers pinching the book over it. A motion I have implemented a thousand times, a quick flick of my hand produces a flame and the smell of sulfur.

I have done plenty of wrong, and when I lay down for the last time, I will have right on my side. I say this to myself everyday regardless of whether I believe it or not as I look to the sky and see nothing with the weight of a devil on my back.

Sometimes you must walk away, to better the world and leave the past where it belongs, to starve that devil and watch it shrivel like a salted slug.

When the match hits the bridge behind me, I stare for a moment, past the eruption of flames, past the pillars that make up the opposite end. She’s there, the light of the flames flickering off her dark skin and hair, those deep brown pools that gaze back at me. Not my love though, that sits deep in my chest, it cannot be robbed from me. Old friends and coworkers are there too, waving their goodbyes as I take one last look at her before turning my back and looking forward, square shoulders that convince no one of my confidence.

The heat washes over me as I look to those who have made it this far with me. A dozen or so of the greatest people I have had the privilege of meeting, they smile, they bring a warmth to me that makes the heat on my back feel cool. Many bridges ago they would tell me how well I was doing, while I squandered their words and did nothing, but what I thought was disappoint them, they are still here.

Crossing the bridges with me, it is my turn now to help them, a knight bashing away the horrors of the world. They gave me life, they gave me friendship, they gave me a will to live. Had it been my choice I would have jammed a gun in my mouth many years ago, I would have never made it this far, I would have never saved a friend from that fate, I would not be burning bridges along side them.

That hug will be there forever, it came over the bridge and I cannot rid myself of it, it was stronger than the fires as hot as they were. I don’t mind it though, it comforts me when I am sad, when times are rough, when I have had a bad day. You have to have sturdy shoulders and a hard mind to bring something over, the rest can stay, be careful what you choose to carry.