Can a step backwards be a step forwards?
In the dark, I am sitting with my legs wrapped around my past. Feeling the click of memory against my teeth. Press towards, pull away. Pull away, press towards.
Breathe in.
Move past intention.
Spark up something that's become a dull orange glow; cup hands around it, watch it turn yellow and blue.
Get burned?
It would be as easy to get burned, as to spend months like a moth. Wings throbbing in the shadows.
Attracted, endlessly, to the myths and tricks of light.
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