if Nabokov thinks the butterfly representative of the soul, then the heart must be a moth. moths continually dare to reach for the light only to be burned much like the human heart which constantly reaches out to find connections. the soul can flit happily about in the bright day spreading cheer, but the heart must be able to survive even in the middle of the night. about five minutes ago i had this little epiphany about moths and butterflies while rescuing an injured moth out of the Hannon stairwell. it was an adorable dusky gray thing very bright and alert for being stunned, and probably injured. his little antennae waving and crawling all over my hands. a bit like juggling a delicate hot potato.
injured butterflies aren't like that. they're too fragile and once they are hurt they pretty much die, at least that's from what I've seen. but a moth can survive. butterflies don't seek out the light because that is where they live, but moths, like hearts, must because otherwise all they will know is darkness, loneliness.
mini spiel
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