#1
She darted out that door,
like fiery fire flies - illuminating
and igniting images we
haven't seen in days.

The sun stopped shining about four days ago.
I ran from rain, tracking mud and
squishing tulips with my barefeet.
I feared drowning in the dark,
I feared falling farther
than the edge of the light
being casted by my fire fly.

The sound of the slamming screen door
split the silence, lingering in the dimly lit
shadows of our room.

I miss rolling around
over the rolling hillside of the country.
I miss attracting ants
to a lunch we had intended on eating.
We used to rub dandeloins on our wrists,
to color our skins and
mimic the brightness of the sun.

As my fire fly fluttered out the front door,
the street lights went out - one by one.
And for the first time,
I realized how little light a fire fly emits.
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