You’ve learned the quiet of looking close. The way antennae ask questions in cursive. The way an exoskeleton shines like stained glass when the sun hits it right.
You know that “bug” is a loving lie — because you also love the not-quite-bugs: millipedes with their slow, synchronized wave of legs, springtails bouncing like commas made of rain, moth-fluff soft as dust come alive. bugs liker
While the world stomps and sprays, you offer your finger as a bridge. You whisper hello, little one to a creature most will never truly see. You’ve learned the quiet of looking close
You’ve learned the quiet of looking close. The way antennae ask questions in cursive. The way an exoskeleton shines like stained glass when the sun hits it right.
You know that “bug” is a loving lie — because you also love the not-quite-bugs: millipedes with their slow, synchronized wave of legs, springtails bouncing like commas made of rain, moth-fluff soft as dust come alive.
While the world stomps and sprays, you offer your finger as a bridge. You whisper hello, little one to a creature most will never truly see.
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