Alighting (with wings of moth)
"Alighting with Wings of Moth", is perhaps the most honest thing I have felt/thought/done lately (even though the title is a lie). I don't know if I like her, but I'm rooting for her. I do love her. I'm sad that she's not a child, so I can't forgive her for her innocence. I want her to be more conscious - of her self, her surroundings, her light, what's holding her back. I want her to fly, and quit floating. I want her direction, not her wandering.
I want her not to glow, but to burn.
(I want to ask her:
Are you flying or trying to take off?
Why do you let that paper moth cling to your inner flame?
Do you not know you are in the company of butterflies?)
No Icarus here (but I did try to infer it a bit with her waxen and despite the title, deliberately birdlike wings), and no other Sun than the one of her heart. Maybe that's why she looks a little lost. After all, it goes against everything anyone has ever taught her.
(It's OK, little bird. You can trust your own light.)
As much as I can, I need to reconnect to truth. I don't think it's bad to live in your own world, but it's hell dying in someone elses.
That they are really more wings of bird is the entire point (and thus the title, although that's also double entendre).
YOU CAN TRUST THEM
You were made to fly.
They will not melt
They will not burn, especially not against the light of your own flame.
And that, I want to tell her most.