A window. 

A pane of glass. Framed in wood. 

Beyond it—

A moth flutters toward the porch light above the side door, 

chasing what it believes is warmth, 

not knowing it’s already caught in its fate.

I only began to notice when its wings trembled— 

but the body stayed still.

It was trapped.

A few seconds later the web shimmered in the light, 

It was beautiful. 

It was cruel.

The moth was chaos. 

Its movements were erratic and desperate. 

It did not understand the web. It only understood escape.

It moved frantically but the more it resisted, 

the more it belonged to the web.

The spider waited in the corner.

Later, I returned to the window. 

The moth was gone. 

The web remained, slightly torn.

The spider was back in its corner,

waiting as the world had moved on.

But I hadn’t. 

I still thought about the moth. 

I still thought about the spider. 

I kept watching from my window, 

not mourning the moth, 

but mourning the moment it thought it was free.

I saw myself in it. 

Some traps aren’t seen. 

They’re simply there.

And some of us fly straight into them, 

because we mistake stillness for safety.

And by the time we realize it— 

we’ve already stopped struggling. 

We’ve already started believing this is where we were meant to be.

The world keeps moving and outside remained—

a quiet night.