A moth flew into my house one day. Its body was twitching and had a broken wing.
Couldn’t imagine what it has gone through. Could have escaped from a predator, or was almost eaten.
It could have just let itself be eaten; no one can control the food chain.
Yet it still fought for its life as if it held significance in the world.
Barely breathing with a broken wing, yet it still tries to fly.
I found it dead under my dish drainer the next morning;
But I’ve yet to imagine what it must feel like to persevere, even if there is a slim chance at survival…
The Rice Cooker Journal 