It lands on my arm. I barley notice it except for a small brushing sensation. I’m not really sure if I want it there, knowing the grief it may bring. It doesn’t need me to survive but I know that I can help it if I nurture it. I could also try to end it’s existance where it might be the end or just fly to someone new, or maybe even come back to me albeit with less courage then before. So I watch it. It’s inside me and I see myself slowly being drained into it. I watch it swell, fit to burst, taking all it can. Now if I crush it there will definitely be a mess to clean up with part of that which makes my life smeared on my hand. I watch it still, still, still. I know that it may have injected something in me that could destroy my life and even if not there will be an irritating spot to scratch at. I hope I can feed it forever as I’ve taken this chance at love.
