The Aphid.

There are four trees. Set in a square shape; they are each a mile from the next in perimeter. The type of tree is unimportant to the story, but for argument's sake let us say they are sycamore trees. Now these four sycamore trees have spread out between them a large, white, linen picnic blanket; the dimensions of which are also 1mile by 1 mile. Now, let us further venture across this large expanse as if we were the air. We explore every corner and every wrinkle of this large picnic blanket and come across nothing. Not a crumb, nor a feather, not even the faintest residue of pollen. Nothing except in the very center of the blanket, where there stands the most minuscule Green Aphid. Alone. Nothing around it but blank, white terrain. And there it exists; and I say exists as opposed to lives, because to live you must have life in you, and full of life this little Aphid is not. It just awaits the end, no thing can reach it, so it just waits in it's own wilderness: nothingness.

“It's so ------ when you don't even know yourself.”

“--------- adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.”



“When we truly realize that we are all ----- is when we need others the most”