Fairy in a Bottle
He said I caught his eye
and wouldn’t let go
after the rain that June afternoon.
He saw my sparkle and watched
me flutter between summer blooms,
before plucking me from a rose.
He caressed my iridescent legs,
aglow with harnessed sunlight,
and said I was the magic
he needed to bottle up
to make his world brighter.
And he wasn’t wrong—
he lived in a dark place.
I could hear it in the stories
he told me under the stars,
as he traced the gold veins of my wings,
pinching them a little too hard,
leaving traces of me on his fingers.
I don’t need the bottle anymore—
I never venture far, and only at night.
I don’t belong to the sun anymore.
My body doesn’t light up,
but he says he loves me anyway.
Sometimes the tree line
beckons me to soar above it—
to get as close as I can
to the sun’s reflection
and absorb the moonlight
to remember what it’s like to shine.
But the dark is frightening,
and the known is comfortable,
so I feel safer in his hands.
Yet, every night I dare to fly
just a little higher, as the stars seem
to be twinkling for my attention.
The wind whispers past him
with a message only I can hear—
the stars are luminous spheres
of strength and secrets,
and if I can get close enough,
they will share them with me.
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