Counting Fireflies

In somber autumn dreams
we watch as clocks melt,
time the illusion once felt
on a creaking porch swing
one summer somewhere

when fireflies held in our hands
transcended brilliance of stars
because we sat there together
hiding smiles in the dark,
believing there was forever

Modern Existentialism

Thought I'd throw in with Sartre and Camus, but as my attention span is so short, the story is, too:

http://www.troubadour21.com/short-stories/zanfad/catching-ashes/