you’re sitting in the backyard, it’s too dark to see anything but their smiling faces. children rush around, catching fireflies. your drink cools your hand and you sip it slowly, too focused on the conversation to bother drinking. a breeze ruffles through your hair, and a firefly lands, for a second, on your finger, before darting away again. fly fast, firefly, you think to yourself. you remember the story about fireflies being faeries. it’s too humid to move and so you don’t, and you look away as your family says your name with a bite on their tongue, like everytime they say it they’re doing you a favor.

you’re sitting around the bonfire burned low, the focus having shifted from tending it. the conversation has died down, you have run from topic to topic like a man desperate for water and now you’ve collapsed, unable to take another step. there are whispers around you as they discuss the results of the game, but you pay no mind. no one’s talking to you. the stars are so bright out here, so clear. you focus on them and curl your legs into your body. the woods rustle around you, unsure of what to make of your group. you close your eyes and fake sleep.

you’re sitting at the table, empty hands and emptier eyes. your drink is long gone; a shame, you used it to supplement conversation. the bonfire is being built but no one stands up. her hand rests on your arm and you want to lean in, but no, no, this is not the time. you are tired of being a punchline to someone else’s joke no matter how innocuous it sounds. your cards fall to the ground and you’re too tired to pick them up. this was a mistake. this was a mistake. but mistake implies that you didn’t mean to be here. and despite everything, you did.