I’ve got a match, your embrace and my collapse
My Grandmother collects matchbooks. When moving out of her house she asked what we would want.
I chose the matches.
I’ve hoarded them over the years as well. Fragments of memories. Restaurants along the highway. Trips exotic.
She’s ailing a little bit in the memory department of late, my Grandma, and it makes these bits of cardboard and sulfur seem all the more important.
As I write this I wonder, will these words be familiar as I get on in years?
Not to end on a heavy note, I do appreciate the designs. Lo and behold, of course there are several galleries online for these things.