my ladybug
So, I let the ladybug go in a pile of spinach over the side of our front porch. Maybe s/he was content confined in the seemingly perfect world of hir plastic prison (maybe only my knowledge otherwise made it a prison), but I thought s/he should be free. But what do I know? S/he could very well've drowned in the Portland rain. Maybe that confinement was hir life support or maybe s/he worked hard to get to that point, hir heaven.
I'd like to think and hope that I've done the right thing, that this ladybug from so far away had arrived here for some purpose that s/he will now fulfill, but what do I know? Perhaps hope isn't always all you need.
I sometimes wonder if I fucked up and messed up my fate. Like I should've taken a left when I took a right and stayed the night at that motel next to the irrigation pond. Sometimes I feel so lost. I only wonder if I'd been wrongfully sealed in an airtight plastic bag and shipped 2243 miles off course to a strange land where some boy has freed me of the only place I feel comfortable.