She sits there like a fire, inviting and warming, hypnotizing all moths with her light.
I am the embers underneath, supplying fuel she feeds on and shows as her own. Cast in her shadows, briefly seen through flickers of light, only if she allows a break in the trance she has the moths under.
I am cold, dull; she is hot, energetic. If the moths venture too close, enticed by her harmless tempting, their wings are scorched in warning. Otherwise when she has their attentions but at a distance, her heat only makes them sweat.
She can be the only one visible; if the moths' attentions waver she pulls them back with a jealous flare.
So accustomed to her brightness now I can look past to see the night stars, peaceful in their stillness and gentle glow. So patient, waiting for a moth's gaze to grow bored and tired from squinting at the pulsating fire and drift upwards, immediately comforted by its soft light.
Why can't I be a star? Not basking in the fuel that created the desirable flames but content in my own supplies. Not whose undeniable presence beckons all moths, whose attentions increase the height of her blaze but shining brighter than other stars to one moth...the only one who matters.
How can I gain that moth's attention? I can't burn like her, I don't have the fuel; she is too overpowering.
Besides, I am what I am.
I am the embers, who can only dream.