Stopped Mid-Sentence

I was in the middle of something—

don't remember what anymore.

A sentence I'd started to build

when the match struck at the table behind me.

That sound stopped everything.

The sulfur came after,

sharp enough to cut through the deli smell

of roast beef and mustard.

The match head glowed,

a small orange second

before the wick caught

and the candle held it.

I looked back at whoever I was talking to.

They were waiting for me to finish.

But the sentence was gone.

What I'd meant to say

had already burned out.