I used to say my favourite was the butterfly, because of it’s pretty wings and colours. And in a way, it kind of still is. I am still drawn to its beauty like a moth to a flame, to the light its bright colours bring to life.

But that is why I am not sure anymore. For like the moth, I am drawn to everything bright and full of light. For like the moth, I find comfort in having light in my life.

But also, like the moth, I am not as beautiful as the butterfly. For like the moth, as much as I want the light, something still holds me in the darkness. Something still keeps me away from the light.

There are many times in my life, where the world is full of brightness, and all I have to do is step into it. But like the moth, I do not. Like the moth, I continue to hide in the darkness, until I am in it so long that the second I see a shred of light again, I do anything to be in it, even at the cost of others.

Until, like the moth, the light starts to fill the world again, and I scurry back into hiding, too afraid to embrace it, too ashamed to accept it, and too much like a moth to be a butterfly in it.