The Little Match Girl
The Frozen Child Who Saw Heaven's Hearth
Strike a match, see what I see.
They pass me by, blind to the fire in my hands. I don't beg, I offer visions — a grandmother's smile, a Christmas tree that touches heaven, a world without hunger or frost. No one buys. But when the last match burns, I will not shiver. I will follow the light.
What I'm Into: flicker of flame, grandmother's voice, warm bread, snowflakes on frozen lashes, silent streets
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