Prose Post #7: The Moths

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the moths in my apartment.  I wish they would leave me alone. If it’s true what people say—that moths symbolize death—well, they’re a little late. Where were these things two months ago?

Or maybe they’re not here for his death. Maybe they’re here for mine. Not my literal death but this…stagnation. That’s exactly what it is. I feel stopped.



This is an excerpt from Lang Leav’s book of prose and poetry, Lullabies. It resonated with me so much that I just had to share it with you. I’ve been reading this book on and off for the last few months but in a way, I guess I’m savoring each piece as I go along.

lang leav lullabies

“Whenever you see his name, it trips you up. Even if it’s one that belongs to many others, even if he belongs to someone else. You know he is a symbol of your weakness, your Kryptonite. How he rushes in like wildfire and burns through everything you worked so hard to build since he last left you in ashes. So you do the only thing you know how—you put as many miles as you can between him. As many roadblocks and traffic lights as you can gather. Then you build a bold, red stop sign right on your doorstep, knowing all the stop signs in the world could never hold him—they can only ask him to stay awhile.”

—-Lang Leav, Lullabies