She’s so dull during the day, but comes alive at night. At times I don’t know what to do with her during the ever so long hours of the afternoon. She just hangs around my side; we don’t talk, barely have anything in common. I almost loose interest completely. It almost becomes a burden; the fact that we’re such different species and there’s no point in even trying to go against the norm and be in a relationship when I feel nothing, when we feel nothing, when I can just settle with the woman my mother picked for me.
But then comes the night and there’s something in the certain type of summer evening breeze that brings about this distinct rosy fragrance–and the skies are pink yellow gold, and the stars begin to undress their marvelous glistening selves and I look beyond; and there’s a sea of fireflies– stars here on earth, over my land, casting their magic spells into my heart once more. So I run after her, my firefly, and capture her within my grasp, and when she sees me I swear to you my heart stops; that’s when she flies out of my palms and glows up above. And I can never reach for her, and my heart grows ever fonder, and I promise myself that there is nothing else in this world that captivates me so, that keeps me alive, that I’d give up everything for.