A Moth Named Maxwell

I am in love...

I trapped a moth under a glass tonight. It's little wings were beating so fast and brutal against the walls of it's confinement. Tattered now, it's wings slow, and it hardly seemed but a wisp of the lively silver being it had been. Finally giving up and fluttering to the table top unmoving, I watched, unmoved myself by the spectacle.

I did not help it, although I knew I could. All I had to do was pick up the glass I alone had caged him in. I did not, and I stared. I named it then. Maxwell, a strong, manly name, for a man alone would beat itself to death as here I witnessed. Maybe a woman, if she thought that she'd die a twisted, horrible fate instead of fading slowly, like a flyswatter or rolled newspaper, but no, this man-moth beat itself to shreds against the sides of a glass that surrounded it on all sides.

Sometimes, I feel like that. Trapped in a tight place, heart thudding, unsure of what's happening or where to go. Frantically searching for a way through the mist, the fog, the inevitable pain, and sorrow. Not wanting to give in to misery, but desperately searching for a way...someway, somehow, to get through this day to day heartache and strife and wrenching sadness. Forever looking for that little glimpse of the silver in the sun, the moon, the clouds...the little spark of life.

My heart went out to the moth, and as I watched it's struggle, I realized I was murdering it. The pain, and shock I received were too much to bear, and I began crying, the slightest silver now in the reflection of tear stains on my cheek. I put my head in my arms, and I sobbed like I never have.

I cried for Maxwell, this pitiful, broken moth, and I cried for everyone else I know. I cried for the happiness I've known, and I cried for the mistakes made. I cried for midnight swims in the cold, hot tub visits in the heat, for miscommunication, and judgmental negativity, for nonempty trash bins, and giving a light to strangers, but mostly, I cried for those whom I know who would not have loved this moth.

A moth's life is simple. It's lifespan is relatively short, for most of the species...but for us humans, it's a daily 'dig your hole deeper' with no end in sight, and 60-100 years to continue making ourselves miserable. Free to make the same mistakes over and over again.

Not this time goddammit. I want to meet someone who would have appreciated the valiant effort the beautiful moth made as I let it smother. I want someone who would understand the depth and breadth and height of the true emotion and thoughts behind my reaction to the death of this creature.

I want to be loved body, and soul and mind. Loved for me, for living, for smiling, for breathing, for blinking, truly, yes--I want someone to love my every move. But I want to be able to love them back.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return."

I want to be taught how to appreciate someone for whom they are also, and to look at their tattered silver wings, and still love them, and want to help them make everything all right in their life. I am sick of being...a BUTTERFLY. Lying dormant in my cocoon, waiting to be seen, and heard.

Sick of feeling like I have to do things, have to look a certain way, think a certain way, sick of trying to be someone and something I'm not. When I fall in love, when I love you as a friend, it's stronger than any of you can ever imagine, and I am in desperate need of someone to accept that and ME for what it is, and just let me...BE.

Now I have to go and bury Maxwell. Please send good thoughts his way. He is a homicide victim. There was a struggle. And their shall be an even bigger struggle for the gal who sat by and did nothing for him... a nighttime struggle of torrential tears, and haunted dreams.

For any of you that I have told I love you, I meant it then, and now, and always. For those of you I haven't, it's probably because you haven't asked... or maybe because you haven't told me...or maybe I just really hate you...

*sniffles*