To Catch a Firefly

by Emmy Sanders

Finally, I say, “When you’re…gone, you… You share your life. With me. Your adventures and… And your joy.” I set my gaze on the corn as I go on. “It means the world to me, Luck. To be a part of that. I… Please don’t stop just…just because I was…” Scared, I can’t say. I can’t. I let out a small breath before continuing. “I don’t ever want to lose…the place I have in your world.”

“Have you ever wanted someone so much,” I say slowly, “that it feels like your atoms are vibrating when you’re away from them? Like you’re half of a whole, and your body knows it. And until you’re in their arms again, every single piece of you is straining toward them because…because they’re your home. They’re part of you. Your beginning and your never-ending. How? How do I move on from that?”

Have you ever seen a mountain give way? Seen the rock face sheer off in the force of nature’s demand, trees and dirt and tons of once-steady terrain rushing toward the ground, unable to fight the tide of gravity?

With the moon lending its soft glow through the window, Lucky falls asleep. And I learn what it is to cradle a firefly in my palms.

The blue is bright. Lucky-blue, I think I’ll call it.

i’m crying