...

And yet you're the only kind of person who knows what this comes after.

It has to be meant for you then... right? Like a cave is meant for a caveman. Like a tree is meant for a lumberjack. Like your life is meant for a documentarian.

I could have spent over twenty minutes comparing you to a fly before erasing all of it. How could you possibly know?

And yet I couldn't will myself to erase this.

I figure that looking at things that have barely survived scratches a particular itch for you. It's almost practical to know these things.

But what if you're looking at only what didn't survive? You're looming over something that's still, and you can consume it. If it was alive it would have swatted you away.

And yet I finished this and moved on.