i’m not sure who’s gonna hear me on this one and i don’t know who’d even listen but something in me keeps breaking in the name of feeling safe. we build our shelters —little habits, soft routines, glowing screens, things that make the noise go quiet. we call them comfort. we call them necessary. but maybe we’re just hiding from the fire outside by lighting one inside instead. like moths drawn to that cold blue light. thinking it’s heaven. thinking it’s warmth.  but it burns. I think i’ve been flying toward a blue light. expecting peace expecting relief. and maybe I knew all along that it would kill me. but still, I went. we tell ourselves it’s self-care. we tell ourselves it’s survival. but there’s a difference between healing and numbing. between refuge and escape.
somewhere along the way, we stopped noticing the difference.
i wonder if there’s still a moment—just before the wings catch fire—
where the moth sees it. sees the glow for what it really is. and turns back.
god, i hope so. i hope we still can.