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I have been called to join them and play. “Hurry up”, they said. “Soon it will be morning. Soon it will be over.”
(Because their gods urged them to stop by the first signs of the morning sunshine.)
This is a kind of magic that hurts. Let’s say it comes with a price. They are flames we don’t see and we seek them when we search for meaning.
Boom! It’s three o’clock after midnight now. It’s time for the game to be over.

But fireflies come around.

I used to be fond of Nature in a way that made me consider being a biologist or some sort of helpful ecologist. Now I feel useless as a human being and I’ve had my winds broken by evil. Should I get back or should I leave? Should I be silent instead?
Fireflies are still nearby shining as little creatures with sun lights and I reckon it’s too late to listen, too late to perform acts of sacrifice, for I will have to disappoint their gods and live as animals do, though my heart feels heavy inside.
The period those insects have come here to complete in life is almost as short as mine compared to eternity. Should any man tell themselves when to live or die?
Why, oh, why… this is the only time I have come to think of it. Fireflies!

 Goodbye, whales that have died.

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