Monday, May 03, 2010

Collage-N Part 5

The Moth.

There has been a moth in my room every night I got home from work for a week or so. Despite removing it from the premises - through the back door, through the front door, through the window - the following night, it is back in my room.

Another weird situation of mine, I guess. Begs a load of questions to be asked. But I've gotten in the habit of simply accepting the questionable. So, the Moth does its interesting dance each night while I watch on, bemused, before showing it out the door. Thank you, goodnight.

I've since realized that the Moth in its own bizarre dance symbolizes the aspects of certain people. The thought struck me while thinking about a conversation with a certain friend. The way she couldn't stay in a place, always apparently restless. Maybe not to herself, but given a rundown on her habits, you'd notice. Sleeping cycle pretty much nonexistent, eating habits from starvation to junk binges, the overall attention deficit symptom that have her planning to do something then deciding she does not feel like it. The Moth. Flying crookedly here, flitting crookedly there, never really resting on one spot long enough before moving on to another destination.

Then, once this thought came to me, almost right on the heels came the realization that the Moth could just as well fit the personality of another friend of mine. Not just the erratic movement this time, but the lack of letting itself remain too close to anything for too long. It descends, and sits, then realizes it can't stay in the arrangement for too long, else it may get hurt, possibly. Maybe it just isn't ready to settle down yet. In any case, it can't commit to one place for too long; it just isn't comfortable with putting too much trust in something that may just turn out to be temporary. Nothing is forever. The Moth.

Then, there's the one person I know, or think I know, the best of anyone else. The one who seeks out new things here and there, yet searching for that extra...that special something. The Moth.

That revels in its wings and the embodiment of what they signify. The ability to fly, to become as one with the wind, to live unfettered by the things that would keep it grounded. Mostly, constantly craving freedom: getting fooled by the light that can be controlled by others – only to realize that the true light was where it came from. But on the way out suddenly a window comes in the way – and the thing the moth wants is so close yet still too far. That is the moth that is called Me.

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