Purple sparks

I used to be able to make purple sparks shoot from my fingertips. I just had to snap my fingers at just the right angle, with just the right force, when the humidity was just right, when my hair was tied up in a bun in just the right way …

It's been about a year and a half now since I've done it. The thought of the sparks has hardly crossed my mind—has avoided it, even—in the intervening time. It is a terrible thing: every so often, there is a day when I know that, should I snap my fingers with care, the sparks ought to come—and if they don't? I fear that; it would be a revelation to me that the sparks have left me. I think I’m afraid of finding out for certain that I’ve lost the sparks. So long as I forbid myself from attempting it, I am spared the force of this loss.

Logically speaking, even if I try and fail—and even if I fail under just the same circumstances under which I used to find success,—that need not mean that I’ve lost my purple sparks permanently. Perhaps there is some other necessary condition that I wasn’t aware of. Or perhaps the sparks will return in their own time. I don't know whether this logic will persuade me to courage.