Saturday, July 10, 2010

I could tell you about a number of things; the lamplight and its glow near the window, the hum of the oscillating fan whose breeze doesn't reach me in the corner. I could confess the brownie I just ate, the satisfaction with which I savored the high fructose corn syrup, the sugar count. Oh, the gluten-ey morsels. I could justify it with tales of sadness, nighttime loneliness, a husband who works graveyard shifts and a star filled mountain night without him. But mostly I'm wondering about the moths that pepper the curtains next to the lightbulb by the window, I wonder that in a room full of dark corners to hide in, they still flock without failing to the light source in the room, making their fragile, velvety bodies an easy target for fly swatters and frightened girls wielding flip flops. They seek the light, though it costs them their lives, it is worth the risk. How like love.


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