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It is 12:40 a.m. and in the darkness, a fly is drawn to the light of my screen. I think about swatting it, but fear the touch, splatter and reality of its death. Instead, I blow a short but quick breath its way, sending it soaring away. It comes right back. I consider snapping my screen shut, but realize that it will just find my face or hands to zoom around. So instead, I watch it glide across the glow of my screen. Then, in all its ugliness I find beauty in perfect motion. In all its dirtiness, I find necessity for survival. In all its irritating buzzing, I find comfort in the company of life.
It is a fly. I see it, hear it, feel it. It is movement. It is sustenance. It is purpose.
My husband enters the room… I ask him to kill the fly.