It’s saddening, really. To watch someone grow up without love, without warmth, without help. Like a bunny in a rainforest, confused by existence. But you’re seeing them still. They survived it, all of it.
Even functional in the society. A true twist of psychological logic. But there are still those scars, of all the years. You can see it in the eyes, the face, the walk, the talk. It’s like a lot of webs that somehow manage to stand with each other, in their head. But still so disconnected. A spider couldn’t just skate across the webs. The webs stand separately.
And what’s holding it all together is just pure hope. Hope that with each passing day, a new string can be drawn across the webs. But the strings fall premature, for there’s nothing between the webs to support the string. So they constantly look for support.
Someone to help the spider draw its silk. But this someone seems too much like a dream. There’s never been anyone till then, and the webby world is too fragile and precious. Too fragile to let people in. But once they do, the someone is now holding all the webs together, helping the tired spider breathe.
And so the weaving begins, making the person into the true them. And through the weaving, connect the present and the past. A conflict that could fell all the webs, or bring all the slender and beautiful lines together. This is where that intangible help of the someone means most. And through these sticky strings, the someone becomes a part of you, forever. The silk goes on and on, and so does love.
But after a handful of bridges, one would think, was it right? To trap that someone in the sticky mess. To make it so hard for them to leave without hurting your world. To rob them of their energy to build this world. How much of the silk is actually yours? Would the spider and the silk have been stronger in a push through solitude? How many strings did you break in their world? How many will they break in yours, at goodbye?
