A Moment With a Fly

Yesterday, as I lay on the grass reading, a fly landed on my thigh. Its touch so light I hardly knew it was there. I watched as it washed its hands meticulously. It crept backwards and forwards so furtively that my skin became alive beneath its little body. So delicate was it, so breathless was I, that when it departed, as suddenly as it arrived, I felt abandoned. I wanted it to come back.

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