Catching Fireflies

in progress but finally writing again


When I was a kid, on summer evenings like this, we ran around in the back yard, just on the edge between the trees and the lawn, catching fireflies. I would catch them and watch them as they crawled up and down my arms, spreading their wings slowly and taking off. I would catch them again, and on occasion, I would capture them in a jar or I would smash them on my arms, just to keep their florescence for a few seconds longer...just to keep them till the morning. 

And just like the attempts to capture their glittery lighted up -ness, it was a losing battle... with me, with you, with her....

I am just a firefly. On again. and off again... and gone in the morning.  

I sat and watched her from across the pool. She didn't know I was watching her, and how could she? She was a zombie; curled in on herself, just as I had been for so many months- A firefly in the late morning sun. It reminded me of watching the video of that wedding we attended when we were supposed to be connected, my body collapsing in on itself with fear and defeat.... knowing I had betrayed myself again, seeking the permanent florescence of the firefly...

And she made the same mistake.... I am that one she will regret because she got distracted by my temporary florescence. They always do. Like I did with you, and you did with me, even thought you would never admit it. They think I love them for all my flashing on and off and on and off and on again.

But I am just a firefly. 

on again.

and off again. 

But before you know it, it will be morning, and I will be gone.