A sophisticated touch on storing your matches. The poem on the match sticks is written by poet Sean Kearney:
Nothing becomes familiar in the dark. So be a flame. Be a flame, if only to evidence time’s metronome, reacting to invisible tides, leaning to the whims of any breeze of gravity. Be a flame even if, and maybe especially, if there are none. Be a flame even if only to paint gold the faces of those who are closest. Alight, our chests rise and fall the same. Be a flame or at least be its student. Learn the smoke: dissipate from the crown of your head, fold your visible light and float upward.