Date: 13/06/2025
She kept an old matchbox inside her drawer — not for the matches, but for the memories.
Each time life felt too heavy, she’d open it and find tiny scribbled notes from her childhood — “You’re brave,” “You climbed the tree!” “Don’t cry, tomorrow is near.”
It was her mother’s handwriting. Her mother who left the world too soon.
Over time, the matchbox became her therapist, her diary, her rescue.
When her daughter turned 7, she gifted her a new one.
Blank slips inside. “You’ll fill it with your light,” she said.
Sometimes strength doesn’t roar. Sometimes, it fits in a matchbox.
Rajat Chandra Sarmah
Guwahati, Assam, India
musingofrajat.wordpress.com 