I was born beneath a balcony, on a warm and rainy night. I mistook the moon for neon, and the neon for the light. Years have passed above the pavement, still the windows never sleep. Plastic flowers bloom in silence, perfect colours, rooted deep. Trees are standing behind glass now, summer comes in three designs. Birds keep singing from the screens in little loops and perfect time. But tonight above the traffic, something trembles in the signs. One small shadow becomes a hundred, opening electric wings. They told me follow the light, that’s where every journey starts. But some lights only teach you how to lose the dark. Neon butterflies, dancing where the city dies. Little ghosts in borrowed light, beating wings against the night. Neon butterflies, under artificial skies. You replaced the wind with gold, but there are things you cannot hold. They sell the ocean by the bottle, rent the shade by afternoon. There are forests in the adverts, there are stars inside the rooms. Children point toward the windows, asking if the birds are real. Someone answers without looking, someone scrolls to something else. And above their polished gardens, where no root can break the floor, all the little neon creatures start to gather by the door. They told us follow the light, it will show us where to go. But your suns never learned how to make a flower grow. Neon butterflies, dancing where the city dies. Little ghosts in borrowed light, beating wings against the night. Neon butterflies, under artificial skies. You replaced the wind with gold, but there are things you cannot hold. Maybe we are only shadows of the things you pushed away. Maybe every plastic springtime has a winter it must pay. Maybe all these little wings are nothing more than dying light. Still they rise above the rooftops. Still they choose the night. Neon butterflies, burning through the city lights. Little ghosts with open eyes, turning darkness into flight. Neon butterflies, crossing every painted sky. You replaced the living world... but something living still survives. I was born beneath a balcony, on a warm and rainy night. I mistook the moon for neon. Now I know which one was light.
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