It starts as a spark, a flicker. It start as a glimpse. For only a moment, the darkness is seized. For only a moment.
Then
Another strike of the match and the room bursts into flames.
Ever corner. Every crevice. Light spreads like a disease.
It's cool, touchable almost- at first. It dances atop your fingertips.
You could extinguish it easily, a simple breath could end it. You should blow it out now.
And then it is warm.
It is the heat of a summer's day. Next it is the steam of a kettle. Within seconds it is the flame of candle.
And then it's the sun.
It burns everything it touches, dressing you in charcoal, leaving you steaming.
Destruction.
Damage.
You opened that window and that fire spread. Sucked out into the fresh air. The cool air.
You should have blown it out.
You can't take back the burns. The scars. The pain. You can't take back the fire.
You can't take back the heat.