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Deep inside me, in the remotest part of my soul, there is a room.

It’s not the most remarkable room, it’s rather dusty and is lined from end to end with shelves.

I first stumbled across it many years ago when The Darkness had surrounded me,

squeezing me in its fist of despair.

As I ran to escape it, I stumbled, lost, into this large, cavernous space.

 

Maybe it was the frantic worry of my mind, more likely I had grown unaccustomed to soft things,

but whatever the reason, I never noticed it at first.

My eyes failed to see the small jar, standing alone on a shelf not too far from the entrance.

Once noticed, I drew nearer to it, pulled closer by the warming light emanating from within and I realised then that it held a firefly.

 

In awe I leant towards it, feeling it’s citrine glow penetrate each cell of my being, and instantly I  recalled the firefly’s name.

Through the years I have made it my goal to find more of these incredible specimens and the shelves now creak with the beauty they hold.

You see each firefly is the essence of a friend I hold dear, a replica of their own beautiful souls.

No bottles are labeled, there simply is no need, as each firefly is unique, scarred in its own perfect way.

 

Now when The Darkness invades my life, as Darkness so often will.

I run to this place and I sit,  I am healed, by the warmth that my friends have gifted me.

And so I hope that in each of their own fragile souls, in the deepest recesses of that place.

Is a dusty old room, lined from end to end with shelves,

and a battered firefly that reminds them of me.

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