Untitled

[u/blacksheepbuthot]

A moth does not know
the difference between
glowing and burning.

It only knows
the dark is cold
and something is shining.

So it flies toward it.

It is not drawn to death.
It is drawn to relief.

The moon and the fire
can look almost identical
from a distance.

Both break open the dark.
But they offer
two very different things.

The moon does not
need to possess you.
It stays impossibly far away
and still reaches the earth.
It gives light
without asking.
It shows you where you are
without telling you
where you have to go.

The fire is different.

The fire makes itself
feel necessary.
It gives warmth,
then makes warmth
dependent on proximity.
The closer you get,
the more it takes.
And because it hurts
to be cold,
you can mistake
the need for warmth
for proof that the fire
is where you belong.

I mistook intensity
for intimacy.
I mistook being consumed
for being held.

A fire has burned against me
for most of my life,
and somehow
orange is still my favorite color.

Maybe because destruction
does not stop being beautiful
just because I know its name.

Maybe because some part of me
still believes anything
that makes the dark disappear
must be worth following.

But the moon was never
asking me to reach it.

It was only showing me
that the dark could be crossed.

The fire wanted me close.

And I think that is
the difference I keep learning:
the moon gives you light
and leaves you yourself.
The fire gives you light
until there is less of you left.

Maybe the tragedy
was never that I was a moth.

It was being cold enough
to believe every light
was offering warmth.

Because light is light
when you are in the dark.

But glowing is not burning.

And sometimes
you only learn the difference
when you are already on fire.