My Spark
In the dark forest of life, flames shine bright, and distant beacons cut the night, illuminating crowds and showing the way.
Within me, a tiny spark flickers. It is beautiful. I’m mesmerized by it and I want to hold it high, breaking the darkness and inspiring those around me who, just like me, crawl in the dark.
I nurture my spark, make it the brightest it can be, and, proud of it, I raise it high. As soon as I do, someone runs by with a bright torch, its light fending back the unknown, standing ground against darkness. It shines bright, rendering my tiny spark invisible, effectively erasing it.
I still hold it up a second and two, then my arms quiver, and I hide it back inside.
“I’d like to be out there, please,” my spark says.
“I know,” I say.
“Why do you keep me here?” the spark asks.
“I can’t see you when you’re out there,” I answer.
“I see,” it says. “No one else can see me here, though.”
“I know,” I say.
“Would you hold me high, please?” the spark begs.
“I wish I could,” I say. “But I have meek arms and a weak spirit.”
“I see,” it says. “It’s crystal clear.”
I stay silent, watching the runner with the torch, lost in admiration.
“I hope,” my spark says, “one day I can be as bright as that torch, so that you’ll let me out and still be able to see me.”
“That would be nice,” I say. “I’d like that. I hope one day my arms and my spirit grow strong, so that I can hold you up there regardless of other lights.”
“That would be nice,” my spark says. “I’d like that.”
