We used to run barefoot through the yard,
Arms outstretched to the darkened sky,
Catching fireflies in our tiny hands.
We would gently hold those little creatures,
Captivated by their luminescent brilliance.
We used to call them lightning bugs,
Like flashing bolts from blackened clouds.
They peppered even the darkest of woods.
Made the nighttime a little more bright.
No matter how dark the night seemed,
Their radiance made the world calmer.
We would spend hours trying to catch them.
Staring through barely cracked fingers,
We watched as they lit up, awe on our faces.
Once content we would release them,
Smiling as they rejoin their nighttime dance.
Like tiny fireworks in velvet skies, I fell in love.
I wish I still had my fireflies.
That last line really spoke to me in that simple wish to still have your fireflies, and the significance of everything that fireflies used to represent. More than just a pleasant summer evening. More than a fun activity, more than staring at them in wonder. They held that childlike innocence before possibly knowing the heaviness of the world. They offered that light to you, made you feel a part of the world, and not burdened and overwhelmed by the darkness. I adore the imagery in this, the nostalgia, and also the bittersweet moment of remembering and wishing you could still hold on to them and have them be that reminder. Holding on then releasing them made me think of exhaling, of letting yourself be caught in the pure joy and content of dancing with them... following them and being a part of the "magic". It may seem like such a simple thing to others, but it holds such meaning for you.