Be mindful of your light(er)

When we are born, we all receive a lighter and no instructions. At first, we don’t even think about it. We ignore its existence while we get used to our own. Then, one day, we find it hidden in a drawer, or lost under the sofa. We pick it up and light it, watching its steady flame burn. We get a feeling we might not be allowed to play with it, so we hide it in a pocket and only take it out when we’re alone, and while we play with it, we burn ourselves. In pain, we throw it away, but it somehow turns up again in our pocket the next day. But we don’t want to play with it anymore, so we just leave it there. 

Until one day, when we sit on the train back home and we lock eyes with a stranger. A little shy, we move our gaze and put our hands in the pockets, playing with the lighter, wondering if we should take it out. At first, we don’t, but then the stranger starts talking and their own lighter is kindled. A little flame, cautiously burning at a distance, but close enough to feel its warmth. So we decide to do the same. We let them burn, watch the fire grow and settle while we talk, and when the time comes to separate, we agree to meet again.

So we do. We meet for coffee, and we go to the movies. We meet for walks, and then go dancing. We meet in the middle, and we go towards each other. Our flames burn, at first individually, and then they intertwine. But fire needs air to keep burning, so sometimes we give it. Some other times we let it die and sit unsure of what to do next. And then we remember that we never received instructions. Are we allowed to light the lighter whenever we want? Or should we just let it burn all the time? What if we lose it? Can we use someone else’s lighter? With no directions, we do what we think is best. 

The stranger we met on the train is not a stranger anymore, so we just go to their place and, in the comfort of being with someone who saw us both when we were shining bright, and when complete darkness covered us, we take the lighter out and light it mindlessly. The flame, too close to the stranger turned familiar, burns them. They jump and we say it was a mistake. They understand and, even though we don’t apologise, they forgive us. 

But we keep being mindless. When we are bored, tired, or angry, we just take the lighter out and, absorbed in our own thoughts, we set it ablaze, without much consideration for who is around. So we burn people. Sometimes we burn strangers, but mostly we burn the ones close to us. We don’t realise, and when they show us their wounds, we blame them, we tell them it was their own carelessness. Why were they so close to us? Didn’t they see we were mindlessly playing with fire? 

So they take a step back. They have to. But we don’t like that, because now we can barely see their flame and can’t feel its warmth. So we ask them to come closer, we promise we’ll be more careful. And we are; for a while. But then our hand slips in the pocket and, without realising, there is the fire again. And while it’s not much different in size or intensity from previous times, it seems it’s more damaging. We watch it cover the stranger - because by now, they are a stranger to us again - and there is nothing we can do. At least that’s what we tell ourselves. When it becomes too much to bear, we turn and, guided by the blaze, we find our way out.