"flames"

I am a box of matchsticks.

Before I kick the bucket, before the matchsticks run out, I will be ignited several times. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unexpectedly.

The thing about matchsticks is that they can be real temperamental. Some light up so brilliantly in an instant while others stubbornly refuse no matter how many times you rough them up.

It annoys me, when a matchstick just breaks without lighting up. You get your hopes up when you see a little spark, but in the end, your efforts are in vain. Damn.

But when it does, damn, you can't take your eyes off it. Watching a matchstick burn has always been very intriguing to me. Flames are like translucent crisps of coloured paper dancing about and the only thing stopping me from reaching out to touch is the fear of pain. Why do flames have to be hot anyway? Everyone knows how much it hurts to have those little devils eat through your skin and flesh, but playing with fire is so dangerously irresistible that we want to savour those flames before they go out. You don't stop just because one matchstick broke; you go ahead and take another one out of the box and you keep flicking at the side of the box till it ignites.

I've seen people recklessly burn matchsticks without any purpose or sensibility and it's enraging and disappointing. But to the people whose matchsticks have burned in all their glory and have ignited all the right things, you have warmed my heart.

So there's your metaphor - now figure it out.