don't touch it. it'll be okay.

my favorite fairy tale used to be hans christian andersen's "the little match girl." i remember having felt pity for the little freezing girl, envy for her sadly good behavior, jealousy for her ascension into heaven. i remember the winter night, the brief, imagined warmth.

yesterday, i took an engagement ring out from the freezer. i'm not really sure what it's made of, but it's some sort of metal. no stones or anything, just really plain. that's the way i liked them back then.

i laid it out on the marble countertop after pushing away some dirty dishes and bottles, and took out a box of matches.

i struck a match and put it to the ring. i thought i saw it sweat, but whatever it was, it got licked away by the fire. i watched that match tip burn out, trailing smoke ribbons that grew upward toward the cabinets. i hoped that my smoke alarm wasn't too sensitive, and after looking up, i saw that its little light was no longer blinking. i struck another match. it burned out too.

they all burned out.

the ring's still sitting on the counter. i think it's fine. but i don't want to touch it, just in case i broke it.