a romance with two flies & a lightbulb
theres something special about landing on a lightbulb. it buzzes just quiet enough that if you focus on anything else, it becomes background noise.
its warm to the touch
you cant stand on it too long. the warmth becomes a heat that steals your breath and hurts you, and you have to take respites.
its like a dance; onto the light, off of the light, onto the light. Finding a place to sit and wait for your halters to cool, and wonder how long until you can feel its burning touch again. youre a living stopwatch
its even more like a dance when youre not alone. when theres something that joins the dance of creature and electricty. something likeminded whos goal is to feel the warm buzz rather than hear it, and to bask in the coolness of the night when you cant stand the heat anymore.
its easy to lose track of your wits. and move too fast, and fly too hard, and thats when the light seems unforgiving and harder than glass. Hitting the light isnt gentle, it isnt warm.
but isnt there something lovely about that? when you lose track of what youre doing and get lost in the light? and it shines in your reflective eyes, and theirs, and theirs, and every other insect gathered in the lampshade tonight.
maybe its not reflecting, but refracting.
maybe you and me, we're more than flies on a lightbulb.