it is always so quiet when it is dead. if it were a blue midnight or if a glow even presented itself softly in the corner (as if a sky has corners) there would be more to feel, but it is black. it smothers the stars and we forget why we are awake.

small candles that melted into themselves hours ago are pushed together in a half circle so that the little moth (wings singed dying i can't just squish it) can have some sort of encircled gorgeous death by candle light. and that is what it was.. just too hot and too bright beautiful and you couldn't stay away, you silly little moth. so now you are dead.

like this sky and everything that lived in it before.

no one ever suspects the moon, and that is why it is ducked behind a hill with a piece of starlight in its teeth, and that is why you are gone for too long, and that is why it is time to sleep.

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