Shadow Socks
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Description: MAYBE THE REAL LIGHT WAS IN ME ALL ALONG Every moth knows the flame is outside itself. So it spends its whole existence chasing it — drawn to every artificial light, every flickering distraction, every false sun that promises warmth but delivers only burning. But look closer at this moth. Its physical body rests in the ordinary world — on a windowsill, in the mundane, in the everyday grey. But radiating from within? Pure cosmic light. Wings of iridescent fire. The all-seeing eye blazing at its center. The entire spectrum of consciousness emanating from what appeared to be just another creature of the night.
