Fireworks.

I press my fingers gently against my closed lids, because the makeup remover left a film that stings. Funny yellow lights spiral in my darkened view.

I've always been struck by these little sparkles.

Are they angry I have taken away their view of the world, or just happy to see me?

They are always moving, in disjointed and unusual shapes that I can't quite ever really see. Some huger than others, and some unmoving and dark.

But they're always there, the tiny little fireworks that are more magic than science. The little lights that remind me, hey, it's okay, you see light much better when it's dark anyways. 

Thanks, little guys.

I'm happy to see you too.