Falling to the ground,
My bike beside me,
The only light, the moon above.
Falling once more,
As if it were the first,
Lost amidst Italy's hills,
Searching for myself.
Falling again,
Hands over my eyes to halt
The flood,
My body, a mushroom's form.
Retreated, like a turtle withdrawn,
But I had no shell.
If only I had a home
To find solace,
Anywhere I went.
But that night, all I owned
Were hands as doors,
Legs as pillars,
Belly as floor,
And my voice,
A leaking pipe.
A car passed by, but I was scared,
Afraid to hope they'd care,
Afraid they'd prove me wrong.
So, I shrunk into silence,
Ensuring my fears took hold.
I wandered the dark path,
Where trees obscured the moon,
Now but a memory.
Falling, a necessary but insufficient
Step before standing,
Before shouting,
Before soaring.
Flying akin to fireflies small,
Whose kisses saved me that night.
A darkness so bright, my hand invisible.
A firefly is all you'll ever need.
In that empty, claimed black expanse,
You grasp for it,
But there's no 'You' anymore.
I thought my shadow would linger,
Yet, I turned pitch black,
Sprinkled with dots of hope.