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lighter-girl
I always keep a lighter in my bag. Always. Besides of practical purposes like burning down houses and corpses in any time needed, there is more to this little habit. Light is not only meant for me. It is meant to be transmitted, it is a breath of energy, it is in its nature to change forms and never go out. My first thought of a lighter is a shallow and almost helpless romantic one: it is around midnight or long after, I am with my friends or alone in the asleep city, listening to the loud music playing in my head, noticing the dopamine running through my veins, tasting life; when you see me. You ask for a lighter and I grab my bag, feel the cold metal of the demanded tool and then your warm rough hand in mine, while im passing it over. I become the saviour of your night. You light your cigarette blowing off the lovely fading smoke, thinking about the mysterious pretty poet, who lent you her lighter. I'm your lighter-girl. However, it then hit me like a thunderbolt: I'm mor...
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