vivianimbriotis | July 4, 2025, 9:41 p.m.
Happiness is a moth
She comes to your side
When the lamp is dim
And you are reading late
She flitters about
Completely unpredictably
She brushes against you
Her wings, no weight
She makes no noise
She is larger than you expect
And lives but a short while
(As is the moth's fate)
She leaves through the window
Or falls on your floor
Or eats all your clothes
Or flutters out the door
Or stays for a moment,
For to her, wings furled,
Your dim lamp, the sun
Mid-twenties lost cause.
Trapped in a shrinking cube.
Bounded on the whimsy on the left and analysis on the right.
Bounded by mathematics behind me and medicine in front of me.
Bounded by words above me and raw logic below.
Will be satisfied when I have a fairytale romance, literally save the entire world, and write the perfect koan.
Lily M Bird | July 5, 2025, 12:44 p.m.
Beautifully delicately executed