Catching fireflies

Perhaps it was because it was 1 a.m. We had just demolished a pint of Strawberry ice cream from Coldstone. We had spent the past hour racing around the basement of the library, too tired to do math but too energetic to sleep. We had left the library in giggles, as we raced up the stairs and blasted “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift. When we left the building, it was raining, the kind of rain to splash puddles in, and there were fireflies in the air, lighting up in the dark. I hadn’t seen a firefly in years, since I was a  four-year-old and went camping. So, I tried catching one, and unsurprisingly, I failed. I looked behind me and saw my friends flounder to catch them, just like me.

And for the first time in years, failure was somewhat exhilarating. So, for 30 minutes, we were there in the middle of the night, wind and rain in our hair, dancing outdoors in the lamplight, catching fireflies. And maybe that was the moment, when I, the girl who always felt somewhat empty, somehow felt full again.