moths and flames


I don't remember when the light first started bothering me. I've always been a creature of the dark, but there was a time when I could tolerate the light, too. Lately, though, I can't stand it. It's not that it hurts me physically, or that I'm unused to its brightness. But the presence of those lights starts burning away at my psyche. I can't help but stare at it. I can think of nothing else while the lights are on--not without great effort, at least.

So I skulk. There isn't much else I can do. I avoid rooms with lights on and I come out only at night, forcing myself into the grocery stores and barely managing to buy the things I need without going mad. And I slink home and fumble around in the dark, too afraid to turn on a light even to see the things I need.

My neighbors think I've gone mad. They're complaining to the landlord--ostensibly about the blackout curtains, but it's really because they don't like that I shun the light. And they're probably right. I just don't know where else to go, or what to do. Even the thought of it is overpowering. All I want is some rest.

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