a friend once told me
that a crush was equivalent to a firefly
you hold it in your hands
and peer at it with curiosity
you see its pulsing glow
in the midst of the mass of wings
and you hold it, treasure it,
keep it as your own secret
something you can't tell your friends
because once you breathe a word
about the magical firefly in your palms
the glow you love so much
will diminish, slowly but surely,
until it stops entirely
and you won't cherish it
and you won't treasure it
because you no longer see the importance
i mean, it's no longer the fragile thing
it once was