Of Stars and Fireflies

I've been writing random bits of nothing lately and it's time to get a little deeper.
Shar made me cry yesterday. It's the second time I've cried this month. Both times I cried in front of a computer screen while reading something someone else wrote.
It's time I spill my tears into something more than 'free association' pieces.
So I took myself to my thinking place.
The moon has been sat upon. The clouds are pink and unfluffy. No stars yet.
I rest my head on a sweet smelling loaf of bread. My favourite song is cut short by the signature tune of my favourite radio show. I listen with the one earphone thats still in working condition. KC Kassum is replaced this week by his son. Its Fathers day. Colbie Callait.
"Take time to realise...
One star appears. Twinkling softly, slowly. Afraid. I want to make a poem. But I don't want to make this little star a metaphor to my life as many others would. I realise that in the race to be different, to stand out, I've forgotten that I am normal in most ways.
Ami's profile says 'An ordinary girl in an extraordinary world'
Shar's says 'I'm normal (much to the disappointment of my family)'
I hate to admit it, but yes, I'm normal too.
Spent years saying 'There's no such thing as normal'
Now I'm just it...if I'm normal then the rest of the whole wide world is abnormal in my eyes.
The bubbly song ends leaving me with that 'oh-so-bluesy' feeling that all her songs make me feel.
The star is moving. At an uneven pace. And it's not the motion produced by the earths routine rotations.
Tinier twinkles appear.
No 3 on the countdown...love song by Sarah Bereilles...I get up to dance.
Bathroom style with the phone as a mike.
Keeping half an eye on the stairs to watch out for Pranav or Zo who might be headed up here any second now.
Not that I care. I've seen his version of 'Fear of the Dark' on a rotating computer chair.
I feel quite blissful with my ungraceful self. Pretending to twirl, walk the ramp, kick some imaginary butt....
Flashes of sleepovers past. No I don't miss you. I like being me with me. Not that I pretend with you.
It's hard to explain this. This contentment. This carefreeness. This oneness with....
It feels divine. It's not so much of an 'out-of-the-body' experience as a 'comfortable-with-body' experience.
I don't know how much I believe. The thought of them dying makes me sad. I don't know how much I believe.
I head down still trying to figure out the 'extra'.
On the way I find a firefly. I pick him/her up. Seconds later she crawls on my bathroom floor. She does that little 'I-never-give-up' climb to my window sill. I'll probably stamp on him in the morning.
Battery low. I change. Not shorts. Fifteen minutes of the Aarushi case later I'm here writing this.
Slicing through Viva la Vida. Wondering if this is good enough. Knowing it is.