Would a Monster Save an Ant?

Sometimes I, well most of the time, if not all of the time, feel inherently bad. Like a monster not welcomed in this world.

Would a monster save an ant?

It's a thought I have as I guide an ant onto a piece of paper and carry it outside, releasing it onto a leaf with the hope that its life can continue.

With that thought comes a flood of memories. They capture me, pulling me into the past. Memories of times where I haven't been so kind. Memories that fill me with shame, the kind that lingers in your throat and gathers tears behind your eyes.

I won't let a tear fall. Not here. Not now.

I can't erase who I was. I know that.

Yet a part of me can't fully embrace who I am. I'm terrified the versions of me I grew from are still there, waiting beneath the surface, capable of returning at any moment. The thought presses against my chest until it feels like something inside of me might burst.

I wonder how much of my life has been shaped by that fear. How many times it has convinced me to pull away before someone else could leave. How many times it has left me standing alone.

And the part I hold with the most tenderness knows I cannot live this way forever.

There is a part that still wants to live. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here.

But there is another part that waits and watches. Quietly. Patiently.

And I fear he knows where that line is, even if I don't.