Of Moths and Fireflies

"Hiya hey."

"Heya hi."

"Can I ask you something, kinda off topic?"

"You always do."

"Yeah, well, sometimes silence needs a noise."

"Does it now?"

"Every once in a while, maybe. Silence may have a soul too, waiting for something or someone on or from the other side."

"What do you mean, exactly?"

"Do you ever feel like you're carrying around something that you can't see? You may not exactly feel it either, but you can tell it's there, watching, waiting."

"Like a ghost?"

"Kind of, but it's not scary -- more like... constant. Unshakeable. Like it's always been there and you just forgot about it until it popped back up, just hidden in the corner. You turn to look at it, but it's gone before you can catch it. Eventually, you forget about it again. An ouroboros."

"Yeah--Yeah I think I know what you're saying."

"Do you know what it's like?"

"What do you mean?"

"To feel like everything is fine, like you're okay--but there's something gnawing at you, like you're off balance, like the floor shifted just a little, but you can't tell why. Like something's broken, but you don't know where the cracks are exactly. Like you can't fix yourself."

"I do. Sometimes it's like my heart or soul is crying out for something but I don't know what. I supply it with all the words I can -- hopes, promises, everything I have left. With every bit of faith in existing. It often seems to just come down to that thought of..."

"Not being good enough to please anyone?"

"Yeah, and it's trippy to feel that way. I mean, obviously we can't even please ourselves, but in that case shouldn't we be pleased? When thinking in that sense, I can't be mad at myself. I can't judge myself, let alone correct myself. I start to feel normal and human again, and at the root of that is... jealousy?"

"Hate..."

"Suffering..."

"Pain..."

"Love."

"Isn't that just the core principle of life? Climbing up, slipping down, all snakes and ladders."

"How did we get up here?"

"Same way we came down."

"To the left and then right?"

"No, it was forward then backward."

"Nobody can truly please anyone I guess."

"No, but we can be pleased at some points."

"This moment makes me pleased with you."

"I'm pleased to be pleased with you."

"Do you think it lasts though? The feeling, I mean."

"No. But maybe that's why it matters."

"Because it's fragile?"

"Because it's fleeting."

"Like a firefly."

"Like a moth, eating away at what supplies us comfort and warmth."

"That's what it feels like, huh? Ruining something good, before it could be fully used."

"How else? What would the firefly do?"

"The firefly continues to bask in the light of its own glow, despite the darkness around it."

"What if the moth begins to chase the firefly?"

"How would that represent itself?"

"Well, two of them. Two of us."

"Moths couldn't chase fireflies, they know they can't have them."

"But their light is what holds them. Maybe it's not just the warmth -- maybe it's the promise of it. Maybe they eat the clothes for warmth, and chase the light for warmth. In the same regard, the moths chase after a feeling. The fireflies just feel it, no matter the time."

"What time did we get here?"

"A quarter to then."

"The train's here."

"Don't remember calling for one."

“Maybe it called us.”

“What would it even say?”

“Choo-choo, probably.”

“Classic train behavior.”

"Don't recall walking here."

"Do you think we'll ever get it right?"

"What do you mean?"

"All of it. Life, love, everything."

"No, but I think we'll keep trying."

"Even if it burns us?"

"Especially if it burns us."

"You think we ever stop chasing it?"

"Not until we know we are it."

"That's the whole trick, huh? I've been chasing myself this whole time."

"Yeah."

"Guess that's life, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it is."

"Do you think the moth knows it's a moth?"

"Probably not. It doesn’t, it just does. Instinct, like us."

"Then how does it know what to chase?"

"It doesn't. It just does. Perhaps it looks up to the butterflies, to the other insects of color and diversity."

"Instinct?"

"Yea, instinct. Same as us."

"But if not ourselves, what else are we chasing?"

"If it's not ourselves, then it's just a shadow of us. Chasing them is just chasing the reflection of what we think we're missing. Something to supply us. Give us hope, warmth. What else gives that to a moth other than a bright yellow light?"

“But the shadow’s always there, isn’t it?”

"Yeah. It’s stuck to you like it knows all your secrets – and it probably does."

"Maybe it does."

"Then why chase it?"

"Because I keep thinking it’ll be different this time."

"And is it?"

"No, it’s just me again. It’s always me."

"You’d think that would make it easier to catch."

"You’d think."

"But what if there's no light?"

"Then, you could learn to become the firefly and glow on your own."

“What if I don’t want to glow?”

“Nobody does. But sometimes it happens anyway.”

"They were created that way though, it sounds impossible."

"It sounds necessary."

"But what if I can't? Do we just pretend?"

"Pretending counts, doesn't it?"

"No, pretending is just acting."

"And every actor gets their reward and pay."

"When was the last time we had this conversation?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"Every day, but never like this."

"With you."

"With me."

"You're up there now, I guess, alone."

"But I'm guiding you. Us."

"Like always?"

"Like when we were born. When we came out into here alone."

"When will we finish? When will we have the answers?"

"I think it only ends if we decide."

"I think we could do it, if we tried."

"Do you think we'll remember all this?"

"Maybe not the words, but the feeling, yeah."

"Feels like something worth keeping."

"It is. It always was."

“Do you think we’ll remember this?”

“Do you think it’ll matter in the end?”

“No, but it’s always in us.”

"Heya hi."

"Hiya hey."