Moth. Flame. Embers

I've seen a lot of this illusory world. I have changed, from a young, gullible caterpillar to a moth. My body underwent metamorphosis… so did my thoughts and ideas.

I had always followed the moon, calm, cool and yet emitting a warm, cosy light. It felt safe, a wise choice, away from anything intense.

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It was a normal day, I was fluttering quietly, brooding about my solemn life full of solace. It was so peaceful but then why did I feel so hollow, like I was missing a piece of my soul.

Something shiny… no, dazzling broke this reverie. I turned and saw the most beautiful thing I had ever laid my eyes on.

I felt myself fly over there, almost in a trance-like state. It was enthralling, enticing and oh so ethereal.

Every instinct had told me to fly away before it was too late. But I was captivated. I was already gravitating towards it.

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What I was feeling was insurmountable. What was this feeling, I was addicted to it. Was it love?

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As I came closer and closer I began to feel the heat of it. Is this how passion feels, so profound, raw and intense?

I entered the delicate orb which was flickering hopefully with faith.

What I ardently felt was an all consuming hunger.

I could feel the warmth seep into my soul, filling every crevice. The void filled. Ah the comfort it offered.

But then why did this comfort turn into hostility? I started to smell the ash, my wings were curling, they were singed.

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My heart shattered with the unbearable strain of betrayal.

It was radiating such blazing heat, I was seething with pain.

Oh the agony, such torment could not be borne by my soul.

Mercy!

When I went into this fiery heaven, I could feel myself disintegrate, turning into wisps and falling as embers.

This was the ecstasy of death.¹

I mistook destruction for divinity, and called it heaven.

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Thank you for reading 🩷

1. Emily Dickinson poem reference