Maybe I'm the moth and you're the flame. Maybe I'm the butterfly's less acclaimed cousin who longs to experience her same glory and spirit. Your light beckons me, entices me with its glow. The heat is a rush, like the one I imagine she feels as she's chased through a field, gliding effortlessly on the wave of a breeze. Maybe I'm just a little jealous, in theory, and maybe for that I'm willing, and deserving, to perish in your fire.
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