Like a Moth to a Flame

The hand sized moth wings fluttered around his face. They fluttered tenderly at first, but soon exploded around us in a sea of brown and grey. The insects just kept pouring out of the hole in the wall of the old, decrepit house. The smell of the mold and mildew growing on the fading yellow wallpaper burned my nostrils, but I didn't care. Right there, in that moment, there was nowhere else I would have rather been.

There we stood, hand-in-hand, taking in the beauty of the house that held our summers years and years ago. Time was the only thing that had separated us. I couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, drawn to the memories we made. I was drawn to our future together, like a moth to a flame.