Annabelle doesn’t like the man with brown eyes,
They are flat and the colour of the Earth,
She does not want to settle for the Earth,
She wants the stars, she wants to shine.

Dainty fingers walk across her spine,
Counting every bump of vertebrae,
Whisperings, ghosts,
This is not what she wants,
It shows in every tear.

Annabelle has a collection of fireflies,
Row by row they’re locked in jars,
She wish she did not have to trap them,
She wishes that they could all be free.

When Annabelle left school her mum said:
“You ought to get a job.”
From the office towerblock she couldn’t see the stars,
She could just see grey buildings staring back at her.

At twenty-four they question her loneliness,
And in the town they laugh,
Two children follow her to the forest one day,
And chase all her beautiful fireflies away.

For two weeks she does not leave the house,
And when she does she is a ghost,
They do not follow her to the forest,
But Annabelle follows one

Annabelle watches the woman sit,
A camera in her hand,
The fireflies at night come buzzing,
And the click click click is all she hears.

For two whole weeks she watches her,
The woman and her fireflies,
And one day the woman looks up and smiles,
Like she knew she was there the whole time.

Blue. Blue eyes.
Like the ocean, cobalt,
Like diamonds, sapphire
Like the sky.

Perhaps she will never find her stars,
But the sky is close enough.