Fireflies

And what is to become of me? When the sun started coming up, I remembered the fireflies we caught in July years ago, how we'd chase and chase and chase, and when we finally got them, how we'd kept them, hoping they'd last long into the summer, until Mom was no longer tolerant of bugs in her house. But the thing was, once you finally caught them, they died... trying so hard to keep them is what lead to their demise. And Daddy, I know I cry everytime they go, I know you don't want to hear it, won't give me the jar to keep them in, but I still haven't learned on my own. Daddy I let another one go. Daddy I tried too hard. And now, there are no flies left.

And Daddy, this one was so special to me.

I had a dream this morning about the fireflies. There was a long, empty roaming field, and it was hot, balmy like those Julys years ago. It was swarming with the flies, all the pretty lights everywhere. But I didn't catch them this time, I didn't move. I just stood, waiting with hands outstretched for them to come to me and stay.

And in the end, one did.