there is a moth called the comet. it is the color of old sunlight, with wings that stretch long, like silk-threaded lanterns. it has no mouth. it will never taste anything sweet, never drink from a flower, never know the feeling of being full. it will live only five days. five nights. it will spend every moment chasing light, drawn to something it will never touch, never understand. and then it will be gone. imagine — knowing you have only five nights, and chasing the moon anyway