When I was a boy I built towers, one after the other, high as they could stand on their own. Made of matchsticks and toothpicks, they formed a lattice-work of girders and platforms. They were a sight to behold.
As a young man, I realised I couldn’t build my towers anymore; they wouldn’t go higher and they’d collapse under their own weight. But then I found I could connect these small towers, and build a large one — a monolithic monument — a testament to my dreams.
So as time passed, I had an affair with Fate. She was kind yet cruel. I had an affair with Circumstance too. She had an aloofness about her, an air of nonchalance that was somewhat alluring and exciting. Both gave me the best times of my life. Their nightly trysts cost me but a matchstick here or there; our daily dabbles yet more here or there. Pretty soon, gaps began to appear in the lattice work. Platforms began to fall, bits and pieces crumbled.
I patched them as best I could, placing matchsticks strategically, so that the towers wouldn’t fall. But alas. There is but one tower now. And it all stands on one platform, held together by a lattice that would crumble should the last matchstick be taken. I stand on the very brink of a new existence, looking back at a debt I need to pay. A debt of 1 matchstick — a heavy price to pay for my affairs. Fate and Circumstance satiated for now, stand by watching. I’ve built my towers to stand before me, the way forward blocked. The key is that last matchstick, it’s over dear Idiot, dear Fool.
That last matchstick. Take it and use it. Build new towers, yet greater monolithes to dedicate to You.
It is over. One more step.