What do I care if her imaginary fireflies know her better than I do? Know more about her, privy to her birth, cognizant of her life. What does that leave me; her death? What I do with that? Fireflies knowing all about her past, her need for a future, her sad happiness, her hope to desire, they know all the colors of her wound and how she bleeds. Why would I want all of these details? To know everything about her would be selfless, when all I want to do is be selfish with her.