A lady bug flew into my room. It was 2017 in NYC. It was September. I had that broken heart and the lady bug didn’t belong there. The noises were loud. The smell of cement and rain filled the air. She was there though. She sat on my finger.
She gave me hope. It was the kind of hope that hurt because it stung. It was the kind you didn’t want to admit was still buried inside of you somewhere.
I got a real lady bug out of my niece as she stood upon a stage for the first time in her life. The little dancer. How she shined. I never thought I wanted children until I first held her in my arms. Hope abounds.
A lady bug flew on my shirt tonight. It isn’t so spectacular in the sense that I am somewhere lady bugs probably flourish this time of year and yet he brought me a sliver of hope that didn’t sting.
He made me smile.