They’re the unexpected guest,
The gatecrashers of the nocturnal soirée
that dance amongst the lights then leave come day,
But you were different from the rest.
The little moth that stayed.
I gave you a story, a personality, a name
that all too much reflected me
(or maybe what I want to be)
flying away next morning again.
The man that yearned to flee.
When I saw you that very last night
relentlessly tackling the source of light,
did you wish it be an open flame?
Am I to do the same?