Catching Fireflies

For the next month I’ll be working in the city. And all I notice is that everyone looks so young. They’re dressed in suits, slacks, dress shirts, ties, pencil skirts, blouses, blazers–from the neck down I almost believe them. But when I look into the faces of the brisk walkers on their way to work, I’m not fooled. They have the full cheeks of youth that haven’t been robbed by late nights. When I look closely at the way their collars are just a tad too loose and their sleeves are a few inches too long, flirting with their knuckles instead of kissing their wrists, I think They look just like me.

These are my peers. And then I wonder how they faked it well enough to get to wherever they’re going. And a little seed of envy grows in my belly because I haven’t gotten there yet.

I look at them and see all the time I must be wasting, like I’m chasing after fireflies. That’s what it feels like–trying to find myself. You know when you see that yellow glow slowly rise from the grass? And then you stalk it? But it fades back into the night. So you try to follow the shadow that’s hovering in the darkness. But it’s gone, and not too far away another little light burns through the air. This time you keep your hands extended in an open cup. And then you wait.

Eventually, you either catch one or you give up and go in. There are only really two outcomes: success or failure.

I don’t like to believe life is that way. I hope that it’s not that way.

But, yeah . . . fireflies.


[A/N: Sorry if you feel cheated because I keep posting words sans drawings. I promise that there’s still a lot of love to be shared! The writing is more for my own selfishness. I’ll draw you something soon–cross my heart and hope . . .]


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