• i sit on the bench in the park and it's beautiful but i'm scared of the bugs. i see people walking by and some of them smile back in that genuine, crinkly-eyed way. the bugs flit eerily too close and then away again, giving just enough peace to induce comfort so that they can invade it soon after. the people make cute comments about the weather and about my flowery dress, but the bugs don't care. the bugs are attracted to beauty, but they don't know how to approach it.

  we can ruin beauty when we don't try to understand it.

  i swat and flail to inform them of my displeasure, but bugs have no concept of personal boundaries. they have freedom of buzz, they say, and if i don't like it i can stay inside.

  just because we have the freedom to do something, does that mean we ought to?

  the bugs make their ugliness known as they squeal in their insectival way. straightening my dress as i stand up, i surrender the bench to the flying vermin. they are blessed with flight, but choose to use it for malicious purposes.

  repulsiveness comes not from the exterior, but rather from the corruption of the soul. 

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