A beetle by the window
A quiet chill Saturday, a buzzing beetle, and an open window. As I watched it struggle to escape, I couldn’t help but wonder—how often do we find our way out, only to turn back into the very spaces we’re trying to leave?
A quiet chill Saturday, a buzzing beetle, and an open window. As I watched it struggle to escape, I couldn’t help but wonder—how often do we find our way out, only to turn back into the very spaces we’re trying to leave?
A quiet confession of longing—wanting love deeply, almost instinctively, yet slowly coming to terms with the possibility that it may never arrive in the way I once imagined.