He told me that small spiders will jump from tree to tree, bush to bush, letting a delicate string carry them safely on the wind, leaving residue behind that we walk into in the mornings. I listened, absorbed, nodded and wondered where my own string would lead if I jumped away from him.
Ode to a spider on my ceiling - is it strange that I want to leave the light on for you? Or that I sometimes think about you clinging to those invisible strands while a man sleeps in my bed, as I leave for work in the morning. A kiss on the forehead, an arm … Continue reading Spider