Oh, how I dreamed of those firefly nights
And our playful games and fights
With the setting of the sun, through the fields we'd run

I remember those memories vividly
But they can no longer be
They are now owned by the past and can no longer last

And now me and my friends have grown up
Yet I still feel stuck
To go back, I yearn, just to return

And one day I was granted a wish
Then with a pop and a swish
I returned to what was mine, I traveled back in time

I returned to that firefly night
But nobody was in sight
They all moved on, they all were gone

They all grew up from day to day
And not even time was there to stay
And I was forever alone in the place I used to call home

When you said to me
“Fireflies in my bedroom”
You meant “Stay with me”
The wall cracked at two am
Though it has not crumbled yet

i have tiny jars that are shelved
perfectly inside my brain
from category a to z,
sorted by themes,
and from one to a hundred
—a scale of how painful
life is in my repetitive experience.

i keep all my memories sealed
like a handful of fireflies shoved in a jar
that only live for three days;
i may forget every scenario with ease
but never the dying flicker—the feeling
that grow dim in each canister.

god, how fragile am i that it only takes
a trigger for each glass to combust tragically,
good thing i'm the only one
who knows how to pull it.
     i wonder which repressed emotions
     are going to choke me violently tonight.

i collect the fireflies in my hand
gazing at the pink sky
as the sun sinks below the atmosphere.
i feel them buzz around my fingers
chaotically and rhythmically.
i’m the background singer
in my stage show
i’m a fraud
i’m sapphire stones
bleeding blue on my own.
the wasps are moving
the trees are eerily still.
i’m never letting these fireflies go.
the only release i’ve had in a while.
i’m tired of having a rehearsed smile
in the back of my throat.

the fireflies have died inside my hands.
i suffocated them
with my sweaty palms
and scrunched fingers.
my first mistake was believing in miracles.

You tread so, unfondly and almost—
too carefully after the echoes
of wintry whisperings, yet swerve—
and twirl in a grand vesture

of fireflies, of distant worries;
dream like a glowing summer
amongst dwindling youths
and enraptured stardust:

solemnly, and dearly too.

"I will be happy, if you were..."
insistent, you professed; yet deny me—

your caged heart.

Your silhouette casts over
the fiery meadow, over—
the vibrant ruins; finds harbour
only, in the eyes of the serpent

and prance wreathed in light.

Caress your clipped wings; embrace—
yourself and bear in mind, always:

I will sit with you in the dark.