From Fireflies to Fireworks
I have always been very enveloped in other people's lives, in other people's dreams. When I'm not tucked away in my own world, I'm being wrapped up in someone else's, trying desperately to breathe normally in a foreign atmosphere. It's not that it's bad... It just takes a hold of me and overwhelms me in a way that nothing else can.
People have always seemed to flock to me, with their souls and secrets stretched out above them like banners.
But sometimes they come to me quietly at first, like little fireflies with excited, yellow mouths. It takes them a while to sing their song. And when they do, I listen to every word they say, to every breath they breathe, and it fills me with feelings I don't always understand. It's a perpetual reflection of what I wish the world to be, and what I wish it wasn't.
These lovely lights keep me awake at night, and sometimes I feel nothing but yearning. ("Yearning for what?" you may ask. The answer to that question is something I have yet to figure out myself.)
And somehow, they turn to flames, and then fireworks, and I'm left in awe at the brilliant light they possess. I dance in the color of them. I celebrate their glory and I sing of their starry successes and their daylit dreams. The existence of such entities is inspiring (to say the least), for they wander in color and darkness simultaneously as if it is the simplest thing in the world.
The tragedy of this is not in the falling ash or raining shadow, but in the fact that no matter how blinding the light, no matter how exquisite the explosion, they cannot seem to witness their own brilliance. They are all blind to their own perfection, and so they deny any trace of it, like gods pretending to be mortal. It is beautiful to witness an explosion, but painful because I know how much it hurts to shine.
But oh, you are so much more than your flaws, my friend. You are so much more than your pain. You are so much more than a firefly, and not even fireworks in the fresh July sky could ever compare to you.